


No, the one beside the sex shop

by slowcookedvig



Series: 2020 is too weird to be a rom-com [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, M/M, POV Alternating, current events 2020, it's hard to write fanfic that's weirder than reality, life with the effin virus, more meet-absurd than meet-cute, touch starvation, worry about parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowcookedvig/pseuds/slowcookedvig
Summary: Only a few hours ago, Kurt was outside the Philadelphia Convention Center, trying to set up the sound for an exclusive interview with Gritty and a guy dressed as a mailbox. And now, he is driving a van north on I-95 while Siri reads the directions to Four Seasons Total Landscaping.Fortunately, there's a cute clerk working at the sex shop next door. Because otherwise, this would just be weird.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: 2020 is too weird to be a rom-com [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042836
Comments: 245
Kudos: 163





	1. Four Seasons Total Landscaping

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short meet-cute. But then I started worrying about appropriate health protections, and, well. This happened.
> 
> Also, see xkcd: https://xkcd.com/2384/

Only a few hours ago, Kurt was outside the Philadelphia Convention Center, trying to set up the sound for an exclusive interview with Gritty and a guy dressed as a mailbox. And now, he is driving a van north on I-95 while Siri reads the directions to Four Seasons Total Landscaping. Because Kurt has one job: to deliver the microphones and cables wherever FOX 29 tells him to. And after the insanity of this week, he has stopped asking questions when he gets the call to pick up everything and GO.

But. Well. There's weird, and there's totally fucking bizarre. Because if he understands the situation correctly, he is supposed to be setting up sound for a press conference involving the authoritarian freakshow of a campaign that has gone off the rails... at a landscaping company on the industrial northern fringe of Philly.

Siri interrupts his internal grumbling. " _Take the right lane for Exit 30._ "

Kurt exits the freeway, then follows the directions. A block or so, then turn. Then...

" _Your destination is on the right,_ " Siri informs him.

Kurt frowns. There are a couple storefronts and a tiny parking lot beside a green cinderblock wall that needs a paint new job and... ok. Fine. He's clearly lost. He slips the van into a parallel parking spot, thanking his dad for those long hours practicing in an old truck, and climbs out.

The landscaping business has a sign in the window. Closed until Monday. Kurt sighs and sends a text to his boss.

There's an immediate response. The address is correct. Well, ok. Kurt looks to see where he can go to find out what's really happening. There's a crematorium across the street, and, well, _no_. Besides, they look closed, too. So that leaves...

Fantasy Island. It's a tiny door with a yellow awning. Videos. Novelties...

Oh, good grief. It's a sex shop. But at least it's open. And it won't be long before the homophobic masses arrive, given that the location was announced on Twitter. So Kurt takes a deep breath and heads in. If he's lucky, he'll be able to get his questions answered and head back downtown before the poorly groomed (but heavily armed) neandertals arrive.

The sleighbells attached to the door tinkle as Kurt enters. It's dimly lit inside the shop, so Kurt hears the clerk before he sees him.

"Hold on a second." The voice is warm and pleasant. "Let me get my mask all the way on."

Kurt waits in the open doorway and lets his eyes adjust.

"Thanks," the clerk says. "We don't usually have customers in here this early on a Saturday morning, so I was eating while I was doing inventory. How may I help you?"

When Kurt can finally see into the shop, the first thing that he notices is that the clerk is cute, if surprisingly nerdy. He's wearing a bow tie, his hair is neatly gelled, and his mask, now correctly worn, has a picture of Baby Yoda on it. Above the mask, the clerk is watching Kurt with friendly hazel eyes. Kurt always used to notice eyes, back in the Before Times, but now they're the best way to judge mood and intention. The only way, really.

But it's also kind of awkward to stare into a cute stranger's eyes for too long. Kurt glances down again, at the open package of candy lying on the counter. It's probably the clerk's interrupted snack - custom gummy bears, maybe? Between the candy and the nerdiness, Kurt wonders for a moment if the 'novelties' are actually some sort of obscure comic book thing. But then he notices the glass jar full of candy that's sitting on the counter. It has a handwritten sign on it advertising 'Bags of Dicks - $5!!' Ok. So... definitely a sex shop.

"We've got other shapes, too, but those are my favorite." Kurt glances up to see that the clerk is looking at the glass jar, as well. "Even my straight housemate can't keep them out of his mouth."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. So the cute clerk is telling Kurt that he's gay? _Interesting._

"Or if you need any other suggestions, I can pull something _else_ out for you." The clerk's eyebrows waggle. It looks like he means to be suggestive, but it's mostly silly. Silly, and oddly attractive.

Kurt laughs. "Sorry," he says reluctantly. "Those look delicious - " _Everything_ looks delicious, but Kurt's at work, and he's not going to flirt _that_ much. " - but I'm afraid I'm not here to shop."

The clerk's eyes look like he would happily talk to Kurt all day, whether he sells anything or not.

Kurt forces himself to refocus. After all, he's in this shop for a reason, and it doesn't involve chatting up cute guys. "I work for FOX 29, you know, the tv station? There's supposed to be a press conference happening next door."

The clerk blinks, confused. "The landscaping place? They're closed on weekends."

Kurt shrugs. "I know. But the president's campaign is apparently holding an event there."

The clerk shakes his head. "What??"

"It was announced on Twitter," Kurt says. "So even if it's a mistake, you might have a lot of 'customers' in the next hour."

The clerk pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. "Wow," he finally says. "You're right."

"It's going to get wild out there pretty soon." It comes out like an apology. Maybe it is.

"Hold on." The clerk holds up a hand. "I'm going to text my boss and warn her."

"It might be good for business." Kurt feels a strange need to console the cute clerk with the warm eyes and the fondness for tasty dick-shaped candy. "It must be hard, a small place like this during a pandemic."

"It's actually not bad," the clerk says. "Santana - that's my boss - she's pretty good at marketing. We switched to online orders and curbside pickup a long time ago. Plus, you know, people aren't going clubbing much these days. Santana says everyone needs an outlet." He shrugs. "I think they're touch-starved, myself."

"I get it," Kurt replies. "I broke up with a guy in February, just before everything fell apart. And my dad has a bad heart. Plus he's had prostate cancer. He's in remission, but... I miss hugging him." It's been _months_ since Kurt last hugged his dad. He doesn't normally talk about it. Certainly not to strangers in a sex shop while Kurt is supposed to be setting up sound for a press conference in the parking lot of a landscaping business. No matter how attractive and friendly the stranger is.

The clerk makes a sympathetic noise, like he's about to respond. But he's interrupted by the sound of a large vehicle slamming on the brakes outside.

Right. The other stations will be here at any moment. Kurt shakes his head to clear it. "I should be going," he says.

The clerk nods. "If things get bad out there..." He waves an arm towards the street. "You can come in here. There are windows open upstairs, so there's pretty good airflow. And not many people come inside." His eyes look amused. "Though there are booths for anyone who wants to."

The innuendo makes Kurt grin behind his mask. "Thanks."

And then he steps back outside into the bright morning sun. And he's too busy dealing with cables and microphones and keeping out of the chaos to think about the clerk. He has managed to move behind the other teams, out of direct view of the small crowd of unmasked men in red hats, when his phone buzzes with a push notification.

Kurt reads the message. And then reads it again. He looks up to see the tech teams from the other stations doing exactly the same thing. A few people start talking on their phones, then unplugging the cables.

It's over. It's _over_. It's OVER.

Kurt tries to stay aware of everything going on around him. Because who knows what will tip the red-hatted men into a shooting rampage against the press, now that they're clearly losing and cornered. But there's something bubbling up inside him, something that he has almost forgotten how to feel, at work or in his personal life.

Hope.

He doesn't even absorb the words from the press conference; Guiliani is as horrific and incoherent as ever, and Kurt has learned to block out the meaning while keeping track of his microphones and assessing threats from the crowd.

He has started rolling up the cables, preparing to head back downtown, when he senses a body approaching him. He spins around, always ready to face a threat in these kinds of situations.

It's the clerk. His eyes are smiling, and he's holding out a paper bag.

"It's going to be quite a day in the news business," he says. "I thought you might like some snacks." His eyes are giddy, and the air that separates him from Kurt crackles with energy. It feels like... _possibility_.

Kurt looks at him, then takes the bag.

They stare at each other for a moment. And Kurt suddenly remembers the romcoms he used to watch. If this were the Before Times, he thinks the man would grab him and kiss him.

But it's the pandemic. So Kurt just whispers " _thanks,_ " and shares another smile with the clerk's eyes, and leaves.

Kurt forgets about the bag until he has found a place to park in downtown Philly, near where he'll need to set up sound equipment to help the station cover the celebrations. His stomach rumbles, reminding him that he really should have picked up something from a drive-through on the way back south. And then he remembers those warm hazel eyes. _It's going to be quite a day._ He smiles and opens the bag.

A laugh starts to bubble up. There's a reason why a sex shop would use brown paper bags, isn't there.

He has already swallowed three of the gummy dicks when he notices the business card. The logo is suggestive and more than a little tacky, but there's a web address promising easy online ordering.

And on the back, handwritten, is a phone number. And a name. Blaine.

Kurt pops another sugary penis into his mouth and thinks about touch starvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised from the version that was originally posted, to make the flirtation more obvious, and to keep the gummy dicks from seeming creepy.


	2. Fantasy Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine wants to see a cute guy again, Sam wants to make up more interesting stories to tell the media, and Santana wants to give away promotional dildoes.

"I still can't believe you missed the opportunity to give Rudy Guiliani a complimentary rainbow-colored dildo." Santana's most recent phone call must be over, because her comment is directed towards Blaine, not towards whoever was on the phone. "It would have been a great promotional gimmick."

"I would have done it," Sam adds from his spot behind the register. "And I'm the only straight dude who works here."

Blaine just shakes his head and keeps searching the internet for inexpensive ways to ship their products out of state. "I told you both. It was pure luck that I found out what was going on in time to text you, Santana. If the guy from FOX 29 hadn't come in..." Blaine pauses for a moment, caught in the memory. The guy was obviously out of place - too stylish for this part of town, and a little shy and worried. And sad. But there was also that amused spark when Blaine slipped into the innuendo that he typically uses with customers. Blaine can't get it out of his mind.

The guy might have been out of place, but Blaine is glad that he walked into their shop.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Yes. You told us. You got distracted by a hot guy, so you gave him gummy penises and totally ignored Rudy."

"I only told you about the guy because I knew we'd take inventory eventually," Blaine defends himself. "And it was a _thank you_ , for giving us a warning before the online orders blew up."

"Whatever, Blanderson." Santana rolls her eyes. "You just wanted me to know that you hadn't been sucking on all of the dicks yourself." She blinks and puts her nail file down. "Fantasy Island Novelty Toys," she says into the mic attached to her earbuds. "Yes, this is the owner. Yes, we are open for business, but we prefer if you order online and pick up outside." She gets up and looks out the door. "There's less parking available than usual, but we can run down the block with your items." She listens. "Ok. Fine. Do you want me to send you the boilerplate story, or do you have specific questions?" She nods. "Sure. I'll send you the basics, and you can call back and finish the interview when you're ready." She scribbles an e-mail address on a piece of paper, then slides it across the counter to Blaine. "And just so you know, vibrators are on sale this week. Ok. Just making sure you're aware. Bye now."

"New York Magazine?" Blaine asks, reading her note. "Should I send them the long version, or the bullet points?"

"Both, I think." Santana picks up her nail file again. "Oh, and send her our head shots, too."

"I still think you should have told everyone that you won this shop playing cards, or truth-or-dare, or something," Sam says. "It's better than the real story."

Blaine shakes his head. "We need to tell the truth, Sam. Serious journalists will be able to find out that Santana got the shop from a bankruptcy auction."

Sam sighs. "And I guess we shouldn't tell them that she blackmailed us into working here, either."

"That one is kind of true," Santana says.

"It is _not_ ," Blaine grumbles. "We just didn't have many options after the virus shut everything down."

"I still think our band could have made it big on TikTok," Sam argues.

"NO, Sam," Blaine and Santana say. It's almost in harmony.

"Fine," Sam shrugs. "But she was totally blackmailing you, you know, when she threatened to flush your hair gel down the toilet."

"That wasn't blackmail," Blaine argues. "That was extortion. Or kidnapping."

There are advantages to working with your housemates/ex-bandmates. For instance, there is only one workplace where any of you can potentially get infected, and since you live together, there isn't an extra risk in being together at work. But there are times when the lack of privacy - in any aspect of Blaine's life - outweighs the benefits. Like when he's trying to protect his hair gel from Santana's manipulative schemes. Or like now, when he just wants to be left alone to fantasize about a guy who probably hasn't even found Blaine's number stuck in a bag with a package of gummy dicks.

Blaine sighs and turns his attention back to the computer. Santana's right. If this sudden bit of internet fame is going to have any benefit for them, they've got to make it easy for online customers. Though he'd rather be downtown celebrating, or at least scrolling through the photos on social media, trying to catch a glimpse of a sound tech guy with perfect hair.

*

After an hour, Blaine has managed to add a mail-order option to the online order form, complete with reasonable shipping costs. Plus he's listed a few more items that they'll get in stock later in the week, and improved the descriptions of their products - more accurate, and with better innuendo. (When Santana writes the descriptions, they're usually just crude, and maybe a little insulting. And Sam keeps making jokes that don't make any sense. So Blaine is in charge of dealing with the web site. Which is why he usually takes the early shift, before most customers are awake.)

Blaine must be getting tired if he's thinking in parentheses. He stretches his arms and rolls his head, trying to work out the kinks.

"Heading out?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," Blaine says. "I've been here for more than eight hours."

"Are you going downtown?" Santana asks. "Looks like quite a party down there."

"I was thinking about it," Blaine admits. He hasn't seen the tv guy in any of the video clips or photos, but that doesn't mean the guy isn't there.

"Are you going to wear a costume?" Sam asks.

Blaine nods. "I was thinking about going as gay Rocky. Like from the workout montage."

Sam nods. "Baggy sweatpants, running up those stairs?"

"Rainbow scarf, gel my hair like it's all sweaty, maybe put some glitter in it," Blaine agrees.

"Wait. You can't do this without promoting the shop." Santana digs into a drawer behind the counter. "Here. Hand these out." It's a bunch of sample-sized bottles of lube, plus some tiny packages of gummy dicks. "And don't forget the business cards."

Blaine nods. "I won't stay that long," he says. "I just want to dance. With people that I don't live with, for once."

Santana waves her hand at him. "Go. Just don't forget to wear your mask."

*

The crowds get bigger as Blaine drives south. He takes the surface streets, not the freeway, partly because he has to go back to the house to shower and change and switch to a clean mask, and partly because he wants to see the energy build as he goes through the city. It's already dusk by the time he finds a place to park. He makes sure he knows which street he's on, gets his mask settled over his nose, and heads out.

There's different music on every street corner, drumlines and guitars and DJs. People are wearing Uncle Sam hats or t-shirts promoting voting or Eagles jerseys or not very much at all, other than their masks. (There are days when climate change totally sucks. This is not one of them.) Blaine counts at least ten different versions of Gritty, plus a half-dozen mailboxes, a couple eagles, and at least one unicorn. His costume isn't obvious enough to stand out, but he still joins in the dances and poses for photos with Philly's more recognizable characters. As he dances, he watches for tv cameras and a pair of blue eyes sparkling between perfect hair and a navy blue mask. (Though the tv guy probably changed his mask. And he probably isn't still working, not after ten hours. And he could be in costume, hidden beneath Gritty's googly eyes or the glitter on an eagle's beak.)

Blaine dances, and sings, and poses, and hands out sample-sized bottles of lube, and cheers as he watches the leaders that his city helped to choose, giving their speeches on the big screen.

He imagines finding the tv guy and sweeping him into the kiss that he wanted to give, back in the parking lot. But in the sea of masks and costumes, Blaine can't find him.


	3. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt lives alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. If I keep Burt's canon medical history (already established in the first chapter) and Carole's fanon job (nurse), that really sucks for a family during COVID times.
> 
> So I decided that Finn is still alive in this AU.
> 
> I've never written Finn before. I just... didn't feel like I could. But I was throwing enough stress at Kurt, and I wanted someone to calm his worries about his dad.

Kurt gets home around five, takes a shower, and throws his clothes and mask into the laundry. He's got a rotating collection of yoga pants and t-shirts to wear in the evenings, a freezer full of frozen vegetables and chicken breasts, a cupboard full of rice and beans and flour and pasta, and a refrigerator with homemade iced herbal tea, sourdough starter, coffee beans, and enough butter and milk and eggs to make comfort pancakes when he needs them. It's not hoarding, but it's enough for a single twenty-something man who lives alone and likes to cook healthy food, but doesn't want to go to the grocery store every day.

He sautés some vegetables, mixes in a little thyme and oregano, and throws in two eggs. A veggie scramble is a perfectly normal dinner for one; it's better than something out of a can. He spoons the eggs onto a plate, then turns on the tv and sits on the couch to eat. Normally, he wouldn't watch the news; he's been _right there_ for enough of it. But even after seven straight days of handling sound for rallies, and interviews at the polls, and protests, and more rallies, and press conferences, and street parties, he feels like he'll miss something if he doesn't keep watching. When he's done, he washes the dishes, then calls his dad.

"You did it!" His dad doesn't even bother to say hello. "I swear I'll never make fun of the Eagles or the Phillies again."

"I've been at so many interviews that I actually know what you're talking about this time, Dad. It's almost scary," Kurt laughs. "But it wasn't just me. I swear. It was tens of thousands of us. Not just one gay kid."

"Yeah, well, I bet Rudy Guiliani is looking for some crackpot who will claim that you PERSONALLY stuffed all the ballot boxes," Burt says. "Did you hear about that press conference at the garden shop?"

"Landscaping business," Kurt corrects him. "I was actually there for that one."

"Was it as weird as it looked on tv?" his dad asks. "Looked like the kind of place where you shouldn't go after dark."

Kurt laughs. "It wasn't that bad. The neighbors were nice."

"Nice?" Burt snorts. "I heard there was a porn shop."

" _'Adult videos and novelties,'_ " Kurt corrects him. "The entire thing was like one giant hallucination." He doesn't say _dream_. In fact, it is time to change the subject before his dad notices him mooning over Blaine-the-sexy-sex-shop-clerk. That phone number is still burning a hole in Kurt's wallet. "So how are things in Lima?"

"Not great," Burt admits. "Hospitalizations are way up. Carole's moved back into your old room again."

Kurt's heart sinks. "Dad..." Back in the Before Times, it seemed so perfect that his father had gotten remarried to a nurse. It made Kurt feel less guilty for wanting to get out of Ohio after he graduated from high school, leaving his dad behind with all of his health problems. But now... well. It's just good that there is a bathroom connected to Kurt's old room, and that the stairs lead straight to the back door. At least his dad and Carole can quarantine in the same house.

"We'll be ok." Burt sounds reassuring, but Kurt has heard this tone before. "We got plenty of soap and those disinfecting wipes back when the virus started going up again, and Carole made a lot of chili and pasta sauce and put it in the freezer. And I'm cooking for her while she's on shift sometimes, too. Plus Finn is helping."

"Helping cook?" Kurt is skeptical.

"Helping with everything else," Burt says. "Grocery shopping. Making the customers wear their goddamn masks if they want to come in the shop, and making them stay outside if they think that protecting other people violates their frigging rights." There are good things about having a giant for a stepbrother. Even if Finn is actually the world's largest human puppy, complete with the oversized feet and lack of coordination.

"We should do a Zoom chat tonight," Kurt suggests. "All four of us. We could watch the victory speech at eight. It would almost be like being together." It won't solve Kurt's craving for a pair of arms around him. Any pair of arms... parent, sibling, friend, lover... But it will be better than nothing.

"That sounds great," Burt agrees. "I'll tell the others. You want to set it up?"

"I'll take care of it," Kurt promises.

"It will be good to see your face," Burt says. "Later, kiddo."

"See you later, Dad." Kurt holds the phone for a moment after he hangs up, then settles down with his laptop.

*

The Hummel-Hudson family is a lot smaller than the Brady Bunch, only taking up four squares on the Zoom window. But the family makes up for its size with its enthusiasm. Carole whoops and claps, and Burt nods and interjects various ' _hell, yeah'_ s, and Kurt dances in his chair, singing along with Finn to all of the songs.

When the speeches and fireworks are over, Kurt switches his attention to the faces of his family. He is busy soaking them in, memorizing their faces, when he sees it. "Dad. You're crying."

"Hell _yes_ I'm crying, Kurt," his father says. "Because you know what? I know that I'm going to live to see my son get married and raise his own kids. And a week ago, I wasn't sure that _any_ of that was gonna be possible."

Kurt takes a breath and nods. These past months. Ugh. Only seeing his dad that one time in the summer, picnicking in a park rather than cooking for him in the Hummel-Hudson kitchen, staying in a hotel rather than his old bedroom, and GOD not being able to HUG him. All because Kurt was afraid that he could have picked up the virus at a gas station on the drive west. And that was built on _four years_ of worrying that his dad wouldn't be able to get health insurance when he needed it.

Burt isn't the only one crying from relief.

"I need to go," Carole apologizes after they've all sat there, wet-eyed and silent, for several minutes. "I've got an early shift tomorrow."

"I'll go, too," Burt says. "Cause I'm getting old. And it feels like I haven't slept in _months_." He chuckles. "I am going to sleep _so well_ tonight."

Kurt nods and signs a hug at them. "Stay safe. Both of you."

"Love you, kiddo," Burt smiles.

"Take care of yourself, Kurt." Carole waves at the camera.

And then they're gone, and it's just Kurt and Finn.

"How are they doing?" Kurt asks. "Really?"

"They're ok," Finn says. "Burt has been pretty worried about the election. But he's been good about masks and keeping his distance. And I think he almost trusts me with the customers by now."

"He should," Kurt smiles. "You've been good at it for a long time."

"Well, you know Burt," Finn says. "He feels like nothing will be done right if he's not part of it."

Kurt laughs. It's true. And if Kurt's honest with himself, he's the same way. Especially when it comes to taking care of his dad. "And what about you?" Kurt asks. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right," Finn says easily. "Mike Chang and I have been gaming every couple nights, and it's still warm enough to take Goldie to the park every day. And I see Burt at the shop, and my mom on Zoom."

"I can't believe you went out and got a dog for quarantine." Kurt shakes his head.

Finn shrugs. "It was that or get back together with one of my ex-girlfriends. A puppy seemed like less drama."

Kurt smirks. "That's for sure."

"What about you?" Finn asks. "You're the one who's living alone."

It's Kurt's turn to shrug. "I'm not the golden retriever type," he says.

"That's totally not true," Finn argues. "You loved the puppy this summer."

"She slobbered on my vest, Finn." But Kurt smiles, because Finn's right. Kurt enjoys enthusiastic affection more than he's willing to admit to most people.

"I wasn't just talking about getting a dog," Finn says. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm ok," Kurt says.

Finn looks skeptical.

Kurt sighs. "There's a pandemic going on, Finn. I've got a job. A job that pays for regular testing, and that promises to pay us if we get sick. It's better than a lot of people have."

"Ok." Finn backs off. "But let me know if you need anything, ok, little brother? Not just with your dad."

Kurt nods. "I will."

"I should go, too," Finn says. "Goldie needs another walk. But you take care of yourself, ok?"

"Thanks," Kurt says. "You, too."

It takes a moment, but Finn's square finally disappears from the screen. Kurt sighs, closes his laptop, and heads to the bathroom for his nightly skin care.

*

Kurt means to go to sleep. Really, he does. But he just _can't_. It's not that he isn't relieved, or that he's addicted to doom-scrolling. His brain just won't settle down.

He skims social media, looking at photos of the celebrations around the world. It's beautiful. And photos of Philly keep showing up. The party is still going on downtown, with crowds of dancing Gritties and eagles and even what appears to be the original Rocky wearing a rainbow scarf and twerking with a mailbox. It's after midnight by the time Kurt gives up and takes an Ambien. He's finally got the day off tomorrow. He might as well plan to sleep in.

*

Sunlight is shining through the blinds onto Kurt's bed when he finally wakes up. He groans, rolls over, and looks at the time. It's 9 am. It should feel good to have slept that long, but Kurt just feels groggy. He finally stretches, pulls himself out of bed, and pads into the kitchen to heat some water for coffee. While he's waiting, he opens up his laptop to check on the state of the world.

E-mails. So many e-mails. He skips the ads, decides to wait to read the gossip from Mercedes until he's got some caffeine, and opens the one from work. And...

Oh. Shit.

It's a mass e-mail, but the recipient list is hidden. The message: he (and probably a lot of other people) might have been exposed to the virus. He's supposed to quarantine for fourteen days. (With pay. Because his job, fortunately, doesn't suck.) And there's no point in getting tested for the first week. So just be patient and stay _home_ already.

Ok. So the e-mail doesn't phrase it quite like that. But still. That's the gist of it.

Kurt quietly freaks out for a few moments, and then decides that he needs more information. The kind of information that a bunch of lawsuit-fearing public relations people won't share, but a world-class gossip would know. He pulls out his phone and calls Mercedes.

"Did you read my e-mail?" she answers.

"No," Kurt admits. "I haven't even made my coffee yet."

"Then get with it!" she orders.

Kurt switches his phone to speaker, grabs the hot water, and pours it into the press. "Does this mean you know about the quarantine?" he asks.

"If you read my e-mail, you would know that," she replies. "Yes. Of course I know." She works in public relations for the station. And she doesn't care what the lawyers tell her, especially when it comes to her friends.

"So what's the story?" He counts in his head, then pushes down the plunger.

"A bunch of people who work at tv stations and newspapers tested positive," she says. "Pittsburgh area. Harrisburg. Altoona. All people who were covering campaign rallies." She pauses. "No points for guessing which side's."

"The one that makes fun of masks and won't tell anyone about their positive test results," Kurt sighs. "Of course."

"Exactly. And nobody knows if there's one person who was spreading it, or if it's the entire damn campaign."

Kurt pours coffee into his mug, then adds some cream. "But my quarantine order starts today. So that means..."

"You were on the list because of that press conference out at the landscaping store," Mercedes finishes.

"At least it was outside." Kurt hopes that all the stories about indoor versus outdoor transmission are true.

"Thank God for small favors," Mercedes agrees. "But you still are stuck in your place for two weeks. Do you need anything?"

Kurt gets up and looks in the fridge. "I think I'm ok for now," he says. "But I'll probably need some milk and eggs and cheese at some point."

"And entertainment," Mercedes adds.

"There are seven seasons of Golden Girls," Kurt replies. "And I've got Netflix AND Amazon. I'll manage."

"Well, if you get lonely, you know where to find me," she says. "Virtually, at least. Take care of yourself, boo."

It seems like everyone is signing off like that these days, Kurt thinks as he puts his phone down and goes back to his e-mails.

Mercedes' message just says to call her, which he has already done. And then there are e-mails from a lot of companies hoping that he will stress shop for a completely new wardrobe, and a reminder to renew his subscription to Vogue, and..

Huh. That looks like an order confirmation. From an address that he doesn't know.

He opens it. And... oh.

Fantasy Island.

And what the fuck is a Boyfriend Pillow?

And... Kurt apparently requested curbside pickup. For today. At noon.

While he's in quarantine.

Kurt gets up and looks for his wallet. That business card should be in there...

Yes. There it is. Beside the bed. Of course.

Kurt flips it over and looks at the number on the back, then pulls out his phone.


	4. Quarantine: Days 1 through 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine tries to explain why a Boyfriend Pillow gets bad ratings as a sex toy, and Kurt knows a lot about quarantine procedure, and Sam and Santana are caring housemates in their own special ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating on this is probably going to switch to explicit eventually (for the language used in descriptions as much as the precise actions being described). Though I suspect that people who click a link to a "sex shop AU" probably wouldn't mind an explicit rating.

Blaine unlocks the shop, turns on the computer, and is just about to start checking the latest orders when his phone buzzes. It's probably Sam asking where the new toothpaste is; Sam never remembers to buy his own.

Huh. No. He's never seen this number before.

_Sun, Nov 8, 9:47 AM [unknown]_   
**Is this Blaine from Fantasy Island?**

Blaine's heart thumps.

_Sun, Nov 8, 9:48 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Yes_ **

_Sun, Nov 8, 9:50 AM [unknown]_   
**Hi. Ummm. You gave me your phone number yesterday.**

It's _him_. Blaine spent all of last evening second-guessing himself. Who tries to pick up a hot guy who just needs some help dealing with the press conference at the landscaping shop next door? Especially by giving him _gummy penises_? Weird creepers. That's who. Blaine is, by definition, a weird creeper.

But if said hot guy actually texts him... well. Maybe he should try this approach more often.

_Sun, Nov 8, 9:52 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Hi! Is this the sound tech from FOX 29?_ **

_Sun, Nov 8, 9:55 AM [unknown]_   
**Yes. Hi.**   
**Thanks for the snacks yesterday. You were right. It was a long day.**

_Sun, Nov 8, 9:58 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Glad you liked them. I love the way they... taste._ **

Too much innuendo? Not enough? Blaine isn't sure.

_Sun, Nov 8, 10:01 AM [unknown]_   
**They were exactly what I needed in my mouth.**

Blaine dances a little on his stool behind the counter.

_Sun, Nov 8, 10:03 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_There's more where they came from. If you want to taste some more, come on by and I'll pull some out._ **

The little dots blink, then stop, then blink again. Shit. He's gone too far already, and the cute guy is going to tell him off or call the cops or something.

_Sun, Nov 8, 10:07 AM [unknown]_   
**Look, this is too complicated for text. Is it ok if I just call you?**

Well, it's not calling the cops.

_Sun, Nov 8, 10:09 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Sure. Please do._ **

Blaine's ringtone doesn't make it past the first note before he answers. "Hi."

"Hi." The voice is light, a little airy, a little uncomfortable.

"I promise I didn't mean to be creepy," Blaine says, trying to fill the silence.

The tech guy laughs. It's delightful. "It was fine. Like I said, I enjoyed the... snacks."

Blaine waits for a moment, then prompts. "You said something was complicated?"

"Yeah." The guy takes a breath. "I made an online order last night."

"Oh...?" Blaine opens the page with the list of orders.

"For Kurt Hummel," the guy - Kurt - says.

"Got it," Blaine says, opening the page. "Oh."

"I realize that it's kind of weird and..."

"Kurt." Blaine lets the name hang on his tongue for a moment. He likes the way it feels when he says it. "This is a sex shop. We don't judge." He stops, thinking about how to phrase the next part. "But you should know... we're about to stop carrying the Boyfriend Pillow."

"Oh, well, that's fine, you don't have to fill the order..."

"I mean, we still have a couple in stock," Blaine says. "But I should warn you. Most customers complain about them."

"What do they do? _Snore?_ " Kurt sounds amused.

Blaine laughs. "No. They don't make any sounds at all."

"So they steal the covers?" Kurt continues. "Use all the hot water in the shower? Leave little bits of hair all over the sink after they shave?"

"No, no, and no." Blaine takes a breath, but Kurt seems to have run out of pet peeves to confess. "It's just... they aren't really sex toys."

"You're going to need to explain that in a bit more detail, I'm afraid," Kurt says drily.

"They don't have any... orifices. Or protrusions." Blaine shakes his head. He works in a sex shop. He shouldn't have a hard time saying this. "They can't fuck you. Or be fucked. They just... cuddle."

Kurt starts laughing. "All afterglow, no orgasm?"

"Something like that." Blaine is glad that Kurt's laughing.

"And people get upset about that?" Kurt asks. "I mean, your customers are aware that they have _hands_ , aren't they?"

"That's what I told my boss," Blaine says. "You can masturbate, but you can't cuddle yourself."

"Exactly," Kurt agrees.

Blaine looks at the notes on the order. "You're picking this up at noon?"

Kurt sighs. "No. That's the problem. I can't."

"I can hold onto it until you're ready," Blaine offers. "Not like that, I mean. I wouldn't try to steal your boyfriend."

Kurt laughs. "That's sweet of you," he finally says. "But... well, it will be a while. And that's the other reason why I wanted to talk to you. I need to quarantine. Because of the press conference."

"Quarantine?" Blaine freezes.

"Yeah. Instructions from work." Kurt pauses. "Did you get any other customers from the press conference?"

"Not right away," Blaine says. "We had a lot of people call us after the story got out. But not many people came into the shop."

"Good," Kurt says. "Good."

"Are you ok?" Blaine asks. "Do you have, like, a fever, or...?"

"It's a precaution," Kurt replies. "There are some people who covered the campaign in other parts of the state who got sick. And _that_ campaign doesn't consider the media to be contacts who deserve notification. Or... well, there are a lot of people that they don't consider human, I guess." The eye roll is practically audible through the phone. "So all of us who were there - well, from my station, at least - we're all going to quarantine and get tested. But I just wanted you to know, in case you interacted with anyone besides me."

Blaine lets the news soak in for a moment. He knows he should be worried about the virus. But mostly he's disappointed that he can't ask out this guy who's a little sarcastic, but is also kind enough to worry about other people's health. In addition to being hot, that is. "Thanks for the warning."

"No problem," Kurt says.

"And I hope you're going to be ok," Blaine adds. "And don't worry about your order. I won't let anyone else snuggle your boyfriend until you're ready for him."

Kurt laughs again. "Good."

Blaine isn't sure what to say next. He doesn't want to hang up.

But finally Kurt is the one to end it. "I should let you get back to work," he says. "Stay safe."

"You too," Blaine says. "Bye, Kurt." He has to say the name one more time, even if he isn't going to get to use it in person.

When the call ends, Blaine saves the number to his contacts. Two weeks might not be _that_ long.

*

Blaine is back at the house after his shift, dancing to music on his phone while he flips the dessert crepes, when his phone buzzes. He puts down the spatula and looks at the notification.

Shit.

He turns off the stove (because nobody needs a kitchen fire during a health emergency), picks up his phone, and stares at it. He texts Sam, then Santana. But neither of them got the alert. Just him.

He opens his text messages and finds Kurt's contact.

_Sun, Nov 8, 5:23 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Kurt?_ **

_Sun, Nov 8, 5:25 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Hi Blaine.**

Blaine pauses, but Kurt must be waiting for Blaine to say something.

_Sun, Nov 8, 5:29 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I just got an exposure notification._ **   
**_Are you ok?_ **

The dots take too long, blinking, blinking, waiting, blinking.

But then, instead of buzzing with another text, Blaine's phone sings at him.

"Hi," Kurt says when Blaine answers it. "I wasn't the positive."

"Oh," Blaine says. "Good."

"I haven't even gone in for testing yet," Kurt continues. "I won't go until Tuesday. There's a three-day incubation period, at least."

"Good," Blaine says. "Well, not good. But..."

"It's better than being definitely infected, yeah," Kurt finishes. "Could it have been someone else in the shop?"

"There weren't any other customers in the morning, like I told you before," Blaine says. "I guess I must have been outside for longer than I realized."

"When you gave me... your number." Kurt sounds amused.

"Yes," Blaine says.

"But I didn't get a notification. So it must have been some other time. Where else did you go yesterday?"

"I went downtown after work," Blaine says.

"Masked?" Kurt asks. "Outside?"

"Yes. And..." Well, Blaine isn't actually sure how far apart everyone had been. "I think we were pretty spread out."

"Outside is good," Kurt says. "But still. You know you need to quarantine, right? And get tested?"

"Yeah," Blaine says.

"Here. Let me send you some info." Kurt pauses, and then Blaine's phone buzzes. There's a link in the text. "My stepmother's a nurse, and my dad has pre-existing medical conditions. I've been obsessively following the research for the past nine months." Blaine's phone buzzes again with more links. "What’s your living situation? Do you share a room with anyone?”

"I’ve got two housemates," Blaine says. "We have our own rooms."

"Can you get time off work?" Kurt asks.

"Yeah," Blaine says. "I can take care of the shop's orders and stuff from home."

"Can you keep away from your housemates? And still be able to use a bathroom?"

"Mostly," Blaine says. "Santana already uses the one downstairs. She just needs to let Sam in there."

"How's the ventilation? Do the windows open?" Kurt asks.

"The house is pretty drafty," Blaine says. "The heating bills are awful."

"That's actually good. It means that you get a lot of outside air." Kurt pauses. "How about food?"

"I can probably get my housemates to bring me stuff," Blaine says.

"Entertainment?" Kurt asks.

"I've got internet?" Blaine has to think. "We've got Netflix and Disney." He and Sam decided to split the bill so they could get their Baby Yoda fix.

"Well, if you get bored, you can call me," Kurt says. "We've got the same two weeks to quarantine."

"Right," Blaine says. "Wow. Thanks."

"No problem," Kurt says. "It will help me stay entertained, too."

*

Sam and Santana are both sympathetic and helpful when they get home. Well, in their own ways, of course. Sam leaves a stack of comic books outside Blaine's door, and finds the mini-fridge that's still in the garage with all of their other old college stuff. Santana fills the fridge with everything necessary to make margaritas, and even donates her own bottle of tequila. Blaine has to explicitly ask for milk and cereal and a bowl, as well as the comics and alcohol. But when Sam and Santana go to the store, they come home with sandwich makings, coffee concentrate, and a box of sample sex toys from their shop, as well as the things on Blaine's list.

All in all, Blaine feels pretty well cared for.

*

The first full day of quarantine isn't that bad. Blaine wakes up early and takes a shower, before Sam wakes up, so he doesn't even need to worry about passing him in the hall. He even wears a mask except when he's actually showering and shaving and brushing his teeth, to keep his germy breath from floating around the center of the house. After he's clean, he goes into the bedroom, boils some water in his electric kettle, and mixes in the coffee concentrate. He turns on his computer and does some work while his coffee is still hot. He can't go to the shop to sell things himself, but he can check the orders against the current inventory and decide what to re-stock, and send a list of pick-up orders for Sam and Santana to fill. He can schedule UPS to get the packages that need to be shipped, too; Santana added notes when she finished packing boxes last night. (The notes are pretty entertaining, though Blaine is glad that none of them are aimed at him.) And he can go through the sites of their suppliers, choosing some new items that sound interesting. He's got a list of suggestions from Santana, too, which is good, because Blaine has no idea what women use to get off, and honestly doesn't want to know.

That takes about an hour and a half.

This might be a long two weeks.

Blaine scrolls through his social media feeds until he is stressed out that Saturday's joy hasn't managed to last even 48 hours, then gets up and paces around his room. He does a couple push-ups and a little shadow-boxing to try to clear his head, and then decides to watch every Star Wars movie and tv show in chronological order. (Of the plot, not of the releases. This is an important distinction, and one that he and Sam have argued over for hours.)

It's lunchtime before Blaine realizes the flaw in his plan: he has to start with the prequel series. The entire thing. He gets up, makes a sandwich (turkey and swiss with the good mustard, yay for housemates who know what he likes), and eats it at his desk. When he's done, he crumples up his paper plate and puts it in the big garbage bag marked with something that is probably supposed to mean biohazard, but looks kind of like the symbol for the Rebel Alliance. (Thanks, Sam.)

He looks at his phone and wonders if it is too early to text Kurt.

Probably.

He decides to read some Baby Yoda fan fiction instead.


	5. Quarantine: Days 2 through 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waiting is the hardest part.
> 
> It's better if you don't have to do it alone.

This isn't Kurt's first quarantine. Well, technically, the first one wasn't actually a quarantine - it was just the stay-at-home order that so many places had back in March and April. The second one was definitely a quarantine, though - two weeks of isolation in June, before Kurt traveled home to visit his dad (outside, masked, at a distance). So he can do this.

He gets up on Monday morning, takes his temperature, and texts his results to his dad, Carole, and Finn. He makes some pancakes, because even though he has isolated himself before, all of this is stressful enough to require comfort food. He goes through his morning routine after breakfast, because cooking on a griddle puts grease in the air, and besides, skin care and a shower help him get centered for the rest of the day.

And then the long, lonely hours begin. This time, he settles in to read the background of every person on the president-elect's COVID response team. Once upon a time, Kurt would have laughed at the thought that a list of competent people could ever be as pleasant as a warm blanket to wrap around himself. But, well. It's 2020. Lots of things are surprising.

He Facetimes with his dad during lunch. Carole calls after her shift is over, and reminds him to take his temperature again. Finn texts on and off through the day, mostly pictures showing that his dad is keeping his distance from the customers, just like he's supposed to. Mercedes checks in around four-thirty, to see if Kurt needs her to pick up anything on her way home.

He isn't really alone. He knows that.

He still ends up eating popcorn and watching Golden Girls on his couch until he remembers that protein and vegetables are important parts of his diet. He gets up, stretches, and puts on a yoga video. But there's a whole class of people in the _same room_ , _breathing_ on each other without _masks_ , and he just can't take it. He turns off the video and goes through his favorite poses and stretches by himself.

He roasts some vegetables with onions and garlic and herbs and eats them with a leftover chicken breast and couscous. Maybe that will make up for the popcorn.

He reads a novel - on paper - for an hour, avoiding screens in hopes of sleeping better. But he still lies awake in the dark, alone, refusing to take Ambien this time.

Eventually, he falls asleep and dreams of a world where he can curl into another person's arms.

Tuesday starts the same way, except it's Day 3, which means that the virus might have incubated for long enough to have an effect. He goes through his morning routine, eating granola and yogurt instead of pancakes, then grabs a mask and heads to a drive-through testing site.

He's done the nasal swab before. It's annoying, but necessary. And then he drives off and it's over. Except for the waiting.

Waiting is hard. Even when the results are supposed to come back within a day. He pulls out a bowl, adds some flour and salt and oil, and mixes in the sourdough starter. Baking bread is slow. Sourdough is even slower. But the dough squishes in his hands until it is stretched and smoothed and barely stickier than sweat-dampened skin. And he has time. He has nothing but time.

In fact, maybe he should make soup, too. Soup that cooks all afternoon. He chops onions and garlic and carrots, sautés them for a bit, then adds some stock and spices and, hmmm, beans would be good in this, and a can of chopped tomatoes.

It's simmering away when his phone buzzes.

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:27 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Hey, it's Blaine. From Fantasy Island?_ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:29 PM [KHummel]_   
**Hi Blaine :)**

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:31 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Thanks so much for those links. They helped a lot._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:33 PM [KHummel]_   
**You're welcome.**   
**How are you feeling?**

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:36 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Fine. No fever, no cough._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:37 PM [KHummel]_   
**Smell?**

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:39 PM [Blaine]_   
**_The lube still smells like raspberries._ **

Kurt nearly chokes on his tea.

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:41 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Not that I'm using it right now!_ **   
**_Sorry._ **   
**_Don't mean to be creepy._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:45 PM [KHummel]_   
**You don't need to go into details.**   
**Unless you want to.**   
**But if you ever stop being able to smell your raspberry lube you should go get tested.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:47 PM [Blaine]_   
**_I went to the drive-through testing site this morning._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:49 PM [KHummel]_   
**Good.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:51 PM [Blaine]_   
**_24 hours is a really long time._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:53 PM [KHummel]_   
**No kidding.**   
**I'm making soup while I wait.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:55 PM [Blaine]_   
**_I want to cook, but I shouldn't go into the kitchen._ **   
**_Santana and Sam brought me pizza last night._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 1:57 PM [KHummel]_   
**That was nice of them.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:00 PM [Blaine]_   
**_You're busy. I should let you go._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:02 PM [KHummel]_   
**It's soup, Blaine.**   
**I just need to stir it.**   
**There's a lot of down time.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:03 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Ok._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:05 PM [KHummel]_   
**We could play a party game.**   
**Like 20 questions.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:06 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Ok._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:08 PM [KHummel]_   
**The old one, with the yes or no questions.**   
**If one of us needs to take care of something, the question will still be there and we can pick it up again whenever we want to.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:10 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Ok._ **   
**_I've got something, if you want to ask._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:12 PM [KHummel]_   
**You want to do the person, place, or thing version?**

_Tues, Nov 10, 2:14 PM [Blaine]_   
**_This is a person._ **

They go through several rounds. Kurt successfully guesses Anne Hathaway, but not Carrie Fisher. Blaine figures out that Kurt's thinking of New York City, but not of Prince Harry. It's Kurt's turn to ask questions when Blaine cuts in.

_Tues, Nov 10, 4:37 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Got to take a call. More later?_ **

Kurt looks at the time. Wow. The hours have been flying by.

_Tues, Nov 10, 4:39 PM [KHummel]_   
**Sure. I should shape the bread now anyway.**

Blaine doesn't respond, so Kurt sprinkles flour on the counter, then cuts his dough in half, stretches it, and shapes it into round balls. The loaves need to sit in the pan to proof for a while, so he tastes the soup, adds a little salt, and does some research on the place that he suspects that Blaine is thinking of. Is it cheating to use the internet while playing twenty questions? Kurt isn't sure.

It takes half an hour for the bread to be ready to bake, and another hour in the oven. Kurt spends the time reading through the news and trying not to freak out. Seriously, the election is _over_. Why can't everyone just deal with it and move on? He takes a break to change his shirt and fix his hair, not because anyone is going to see him, but because the feel of smooth cloth on his skin and a brush in his hair is soothing. And besides, he can always add a garnish to the soup and a pat of butter to the bread and pretend that it's a nice dinner out, not an evening in his kitchen.

He has set the table, sliced one loaf of the bread, and served the soup with a sprig of fresh parsley from the pot in his window when his phone buzzes.

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:25 PM [Blaine]_   
**_No new questions?_ **   
**_Oh, you baked bread?_ **   
**_I'm jealous._ **

Kurt picks up his phone, leans over the table, and snaps a selfie.

The dots blink, then stop, then blink.

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:31 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Um._ **   
**_Wow._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:33 PM [KHummel]_   
**It's all about the presentation.**   
**I don't know if it tastes any good or not.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:36 PM [Blaine]_   
**_That's some presentation._ **   
**_The food looks good, too._ **

Kurt blushes. He's not sure how to respond.

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:39 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Now I'm ashamed of my quarantine mess._ **

The dots blink, and a photo appears.

Oh. That's what Blaine's mouth looks like. Full lips, expressive smile. Warm. And is that a bit of his tongue?

It takes Kurt a moment to absorb anything else. Blaine is dressed in an old t-shirt, and his hair is a chaotic mess of curls. There's a half-made bed behind him, and a small electonic piano keyboard in the corner of the room.

Keyboard. That's a safe topic. As opposed to, say, lips.

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:44 PM [KHummel]_   
**You play piano?**

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:46 PM [Blaine]_   
**_And sing._ **   
**_We had a band._ **   
**_Before covid._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:48 PM [KHummel]_   
**So are there drugs?**

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:49 PM [Blaine]_   
**_???_ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:51 PM [KHummel]_   
**To go with the sex and the rock-and-roll, I mean.**   
**Sorry. Lame joke.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:53 PM [Blaine]_   
**_Kurt._ **   
**_Nothing about you is lame._ **   
**_Trust me._ **

Kurt sits there, not sure how to respond. But not responding would be worse. So he just says the simplest thing.

_Tues, Nov 10, 6:57 PM [KHummel]_   
**Thanks.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 7:01 PM [Blaine]_   
**_I should let you eat._ **

_Tues, Nov 10, 7:04 PM [KHummel]_   
**And let you win 20 questions?**   
**No way.**   
**I can eat and text at the same time.**

So they keep playing. Kurt guesses "Luzon" (ha!) but not "toast." Blaine guesses "Tom Ford" and seems like he's stuck on "wombat" when Kurt's dad calls.

_Tues, Nov 10, 8:32 PM [KHummel]_  
 **Gotta go.**  
 **Dad's calling.**  
 **Thanks for the company.**

_Tues, Nov 10, 8:34 PM [Blaine]_   
**_The pleasure is all mine._ **   
**_Hope your dad is well._ **

*

It's 3 am. Kurt is lying in his bed awake, staring at the ceiling. He has already picked up his phone once since waking, despite promising himself that he would _not_ spend these two weeks doom-scrolling. He's debating whether to pick it up again, just this once, maybe to check a meme account on Instagram or something, when his phone buzzes. His heart jumps, worried. It could be Carole, or Finn, telling him that something happened to his dad...

He picks it up and sighs with relief.

 _Wed, Nov 11, 3:01 AM [Blaine]_  
 ** _Do you think the Statue of Liberty would be a person, place or thing?_**  
 ** _I mean she's made of copper so that's a thing_**  
 ** _But you can take a ferry there so that's a place_**   
**_And I called her a she so that's like a person_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 3:06 AM [KHummel]_   
**You just gave away the answer**   
**So I win.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 3:09 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Yikes sorry Kurt_ **   
**_I didn't think I would wake you up_ **   
**_I should have known your phone wouldn't be silent_ **   
**_with your dad's health and all_ **   
**_so so sorry_ **

Kurt considers texting back, but they're both awake. He just taps the icon to make a call, instead.

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice is panicky. "I promise I'll never text you in the middle of the night again..."

"It's ok. Blaine. It's ok." Kurt rolls onto his side. "Look. I wasn't sleeping, either."

"Are you feeling sick?" Blaine doesn't seem to be calming down at all.

"No. It's not that," Kurt says.

"Oh. Good." Blaine stops to take a breath. "Just stressed about the test results, like me?"

"It's not that, either. Or not just that. I have trouble sleeping all the time." Kurt sighs. "I've been taking Ambien, but I don't want to get hooked on it. Plus it makes me do weird things in my sleep."

"Oh." There's a rustling sound, like Blaine is sitting up.

"So, since we're both awake... why did you text me about the Statue of Liberty?" Kurt asks. "Because you were the one asking questions when we stopped."

"Oh," Blaine says. "I just had a weird dream about the Statue of Liberty punching Rudy Guiliani, and then when I woke up I couldn't stop thinking about what I would even answer if I used it in twenty questions."

Kurt just starts laughing. He can't get any words out, he's laughing so hard.

"Kurt? Are you ok?" Blaine sounds worried. "I can't tell if you're laughing or choking."

"Laughing," Kurt finally gets out. "That sounds like an amazing dream," he says. "Where did that even come from?"

"I have _no_ idea," Blaine says. "Dreams are like that sometimes."

"Well, it's _awesome_." Kurt laughs some more. "Ok. Tell me more about your dreams. Since neither of us can sleep."

Blaine laughs, then stops. "Oops. I shouldn't. I think I woke up my housemates." Someone seems to be yelling in Spanish in the background. "Maybe we should text instead." He pauses. "Though it's really nice to hear your voice."

Something warm fills Kurt from his chest to his toes and back up again. "I don't have any housemates," he says. "And my bedroom is in a corner."

"Nice," Blaine says. "Windows?"

"On two sides," Kurt replies. "Yeah. It's nice. But what I mean is... I can talk. And if you fall asleep, that would be fine."

The silence stretches long enough that Kurt wonders if Blaine has fallen asleep already. "You would do that?" Blaine finally asks. "That's... that would be really nice. Thank you."

So Kurt talks. About how he ended up learning sound tech in his college theatre program, and about his father's garage, and how he ended up with a stepmother and stepbrother late in high school, and how the people who run the weather and sports segments at the tv station secretly hate each other and are constantly trying to undermine each other.

When he pauses for breath, he realizes that there's a slow, even sound on the other end. Blaine is asleep.

Kurt doesn't end the call. He puts the phone beside his head and listens to Blaine's breathing, in and out, like Blaine's head is on the pillow next to him.

When he wakes up, the phone is out of charge and light is spilling through the window, but Kurt feels more rested than he has in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I learned how to make sourdough: https://www.theclevercarrot.com/2014/01/sourdough-bread-a-beginners-guide/


	6. Quarantine: Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine's work-from-home includes product evaluation.

It's late when Blaine wakes up. He glances at his phone, but the battery has run down. Right. Because he fell asleep to middle-of-the-night bedtime stories from Kurt. Blaine rolls over and smiles.

It takes him a while to decide to get out of bed and find the charging cable, then to plug in his phone and look at the time. Wow. It's late. Which means... yep. Right on cue, the water heater rumbles on and Sam starts singing in the shower. Blaine has missed his chance to clean up, at least until Sam and Santana go to work.

He turns on the computer, then pours himself a bowl of cereal and heats some water for coffee. The shop is running low on dildoes, and they should probably re-order some lube. UPS picked up the second set of boxes for online orders yesterday. Good, good. He should probably track the deliveries to make sure the shipping is working all right, but for now, everything seems ok. He checks on the news and... oh, shit, look at those headlines about the new infections. And at the White House, too. Crap. Blaine wonders how many people at that press conference were infected.

He wants to text Kurt, but he doesn't want to wake him up. Besides, they both got tested yesterday. They just need to wait for the results. God. More waiting.

Blaine stands and stretches to try to clear his head. Sam's out of the shower now, but Blaine can hear him arguing with Santana. It's going to be a while. So Blaine cleans his room: makes his bed, picks up his dirty clothes and puts them into a laundry basket, makes sure all the paper plates are in the biohazard garbage bag. If Kurt can look gorgeous at a perfectly set dinner place, then Blaine can do his best to make his room look presentable, too.

A door slams, and Sam's car starts. It isn't long before Santana's car leaves, too. Which means that Blaine has the house to himself. He rubs his hands with sanitizer, puts on his mask, and heads into the hallway.

When he gets back from his shower, his phone is buzzing with messages. Wow. A lot of messages. Santana has sent maybe 30 all by herself. But she can wait, because there's one with info about Blaine's test.

Negative.

Blaine releases the breath that he didn't realize he was holding, then finds Kurt's info to text him. There's already a text from Kurt, ten minutes ago.

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:28 AM [Kurt!]_   
**Negative!!!!!!**   
**!!!!**   
**!!!**   
**!**   
**?**   
**Blaine?**

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:41 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Me too!_ **   
**_Negative I mean_ **   
**_sorry for not responding_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:43 AM [Kurt!]_   
**Oh thank god.**   
**I was worried when you didn't respond.**

Blaine wraps his towel more tightly around himself.

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:45 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I slept in and had to charge my phone_ **   
**_and then my housemates were up and using the shower._ **   
**_Didn't mean to worry you!!!!_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:48 AM [Kurt!]_   
**Blaine.**   
**It's ok.**   
**Really.**   
**I'm just glad you're healthy.**

There's a pause, as if Kurt is thinking.

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:52 AM [Kurt!]_   
**You are healthy, right?**   
**Because false negatives can happen and you still need to quarantine and make sure you don't have any symptoms.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:55 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Yeah._ **   
**_I'm still fine._ **   
**_No fever, no cough, can smell my hair gel._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 11:57 AM [Kurt!]_   
**Hair gel?**

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:01 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Wait, let me get dressed._ **

Blaine drops his towel and pulls on the clothes that he laid out. Chinos, red button-up shirt, striped bow tie. When they're all on and neat, he flattens his hair with a healthy dose of gel, then examines himself, using his phone in place of a mirror. It works. He snaps a selfie, making sure to include his carefully made bed in the background, then sends it to Kurt.

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:12 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Oh. Hello there.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:14 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_:D_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:16 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Nice tie.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:18 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Thank you._ **   
**_I'm embarrassed that I was such a slob last night._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:21 PM [Kurt!]_   
**It happens to the best of us.**

He texts Blaine a photo. Clearly, Kurt was not referring to himself, because he looks amazing: a shirt that shows off his biceps, a contrasting ascot, elegant hair. And that smile. Lips together, like he's teasing. Blaine wonders what they taste like.

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:23 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Quarantine is hard.**

Oh. Right. Conversation. They were having one. Blaine tries to restart his shorted-out brain.

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:24 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Yeah._ **

There's another pause.

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:28 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Want to keep playing 20 questions?**

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:30 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Sure._ **   
**_But I don't remember where we were._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:33 PM [Kurt!]_   
**You were about to utterly fail at guessing 'wombat.'**

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:35 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Wombat??_ **   
**_I was sure it was eucalyptus._ **   
**_Is a wombat a *thing*?_ **   
**_Animals are kind of like people aren't they?_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:38 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Maybe it's not a thing**   
**to someone who thinks the Statue of Liberty might be a person**   
**just because she punched Rudy Guiliani in a dream.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:41 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I'll never live down last night, will I._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:43 PM [Kurt!]_   
**It was hilarious.**   
**And I enjoyed it.**

Blaine is trying to decide how to respond when his phone starts singing with an incoming call.

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:45 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Santana is calling._ **   
**_My housemate/boss._ **   
**_More games later?_ **

Blaine has already tapped the icon to answer the call when Kurt's response appears.

_Wed, Nov 11, 12:47 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Sure. Your turn to start next time.**

Blaine is still smiling when Santana starts talking. "You're supposed to say _hello_ when you answer your phone, Blanderson."

"Hello, Santana," Blaine sighs. "What can I do for you?"

"You could respond to your text messages when you're officially working," she says.

"I was in the shower." Blaine tries to defend himself. _Tries_.

"Because you were up late on some phone sex line. Yeah. I heard you. Doesn't mean you can sleep all day because you were getting off all night."

"It wasn't..." Blaine cuts himself off when he remembers who he is talking to. Rule #1 of living in the Blamtana pod: don't argue with Santana. It doesn't matter who is right. You're going to lose, so you might as well concede before anyone gets hurt. "What did you want, Santana?"

"Read your text messages and call me back," Santana orders. "I've got some ideas for you to look into."

She ends the call, and Blaine opens his messages again. It takes an effort not to go back to the conversation with Kurt, but Blaine very wisely chooses to click on the conversation with Santana instead.

And... Ok. Those are ideas. Kind of. Maybe not _good_ ideas. But Santana is the official owner of the shop. He should at least consider them.

Blaine calls Santana back.

"So?" she says. "Good ideas, or the best ideas?"

"Ummm..." Blaine hesitates. "I don't know. Do you really think that commemorative dildoes would sell?"

"Sam says he would buy one. And he doesn't use dildoes. Right, Sam?" There's a sound that might be agreement in the background. "We're getting a lot of calls from people who want to know the full story. I want to have something to sell to them."

"Ok." Blaine figures that he just needs to go with it. "But do you really think that _'Fuck off and die'_ is the right wording?"

"Definitely." Santana sounds certain.

"All right," Blaine says. "But as a lawyer's son, I advise you to avoid putting anyone's name on it. Particularly the name of a rather famous lawyer. The date is probably significant enough."

"Fine," Santana concedes. "Can you figure out how to order some?"

"I'll check with our wholesalers," Blaine says. "You realize that this isn't like monogramming towels, don't you?"

"Just find someone who will do it quickly. In a week, everyone will have forgotten about this." It sounds like Santana is tapping her nails. Maybe she's done.

"I'll get right to it." Blaine tries to excuse himself and end the call.

"Wait," Santana stops him. "One more thing. Have you evaluated the butt plugs and prostate massagers that I gave you?"

"Huh?" Blaine blinks, as if that will help him make sure that he's hearing things correctly.

"In the box of sex toys. Come on, Blanderson. You didn't think I was just trying to make your quarantine more enjoyable, did you?"

Actually, he did. But he probably should have known better. "Umm."

"Look. I realize that I managed to hire the most vanilla gay in the entire universe. But you're the one person in our house who gets off on sticking things in your ass. And since you are in your room calling phone sex lines at all times of the night, you might as well do some product evaluation while you're at it." The sound cuts out for a moment, then comes back. "Got to go. I've got another interview to deal with. Make sure I've got some good products to sell."

*

Blaine does as he was told. One does not disobey Santana Lopez. Not if one wishes to live.

Well, he doesn't do _everything_ that he is told. Not immediately. There are two prostrate massagers and three butt plugs in the box of sex toys, and he can't evaluate all of them in a short amount of time. He does his best. Really. Changes into a t-shirt and, well, nothing else, then pulls down the sheets and settles into his bed. He dismisses the butt plug quickly; it vibrates at the wrong speed, and just doesn't do much for him. The first prostrate massager is pretty good, though, teasing at the beginning and intense at the end.

If he groans Kurt's name when he comes, well. Nobody is home to hear him.

But he needs to get cleaned up while his housemates are gone, plus he's a bit too sensitive and depleted to go again so soon. So he takes another shower, dresses, and changes his sheets. He is back at his computer, searching for companies that will print text on their dildoes, when his phone buzzes.

It's Kurt. Blaine blushes, thinking about the look he imagined on Kurt's face while coming, and reads the message.

_Wed, Nov 11, 4:36 PM [Kurt!]_   
**So are you thinking of a person, place, or thing?**

Blaine isn't going to say _person_. He isn't. Despite how his fantasies about Kurt got somehow more intense during the shower and cleanup.

_Wed, Nov 11, 4:38 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Thing._ **

Kurt asks questions, and Blaine keeps responding by text, between looking at the web sites for the shop's various suppliers. _No_ , he thinks, reading one web site. _No. Oh, dear god, NO_.

 _Hmm. Maybe?_ He types a quick e-mail to the company, checking to see how quickly they could deliver some custom dildoes.

_Wed, Nov 11, 5:43 PM [Kurt!]_   
**I'm out of questions.**   
**What on earth were you thinking of?**

Blaine picks up his phone, opens the box of sex toys, and sets one on the bed. It takes a couple shots to frame it correctly, but when he's done, he texts it to Kurt.

_Wed, Nov 11, 5:47 PM [Kurt!]_   
**?????**   
**Um.**   
**Blaine?**   
**What is *that*?**

_Wed, Nov 11, 5:50 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Prostrate massager._ **   
**_What do you think. Would you buy it?_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 5:52 PM [Kurt!]_   
**?**

_Wed, Nov 11, 5:55 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I mean, not this one exactly._ **   
**_I have to evaluate it for the shop._ **   
**_Would you buy one like this?_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 5:59 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Oh.**   
**Umm.**   
**I've never seen one of those before.**   
**I mean I know what they're for.**   
**I've had sex.**   
**Just... always with another person.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:05 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I like having another person around too._ **   
**_I like touching skin. And cuddling._ **   
**_But toys are better than nothing._ **   
**_A lot better than nothing._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:09 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Yeah.**

The dots blink, then stop, then blink again.

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:13 PM [Kurt!]_   
**It's been a long time.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:18 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_That's right. You said you broke up with someone._ **

Blaine remembers the entire conversation, down to Kurt's sad look when he said that he missed hugging his dad.

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:21 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Kurt..._ **

Blaine pauses, trying to think through what to say.

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:27 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_How long has it been since you touched someone?_ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:30 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Since February.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:33 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_That's..._ **   
**_That's nine months._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:35 PM [Kurt!]_   
**I know.**   
**I've been counting.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:37 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_God, Kurt._ **   
**_No wonder you ordered a Boyfriend Pillow in your sleep._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:39 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Yeah.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:41 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_Kurt._ **   
**_You know we could deliver the pillow don't you._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:43 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Blaine!**   
**Don't break quarantine.**

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:46 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I don't need to._ **   
**_I bet Sam would deliver it if I asked him to._ **   
**_If you give me your address, I can ask him to bring it over tomorrow before work._ **   
**_He could leave the box outside your door or something._ **   
**_No contact._ **   
**_No breathing the same air._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:50 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Seriously?**

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:53 PM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I don't believe in depriving people of a boyfriend to cuddle._ **

_Wed, Nov 11, 6:55 PM [Kurt!]_   
**Wow.**   
**Thanks.**

After Blaine gets Kurt's address, he texts information to Sam. The address. Directions for finding the box that Blaine stored in a corner of the back office, back when he promised to hold onto the pillow for Kurt.

Oh. And Blaine adds a short list of other things to add to the care package.

Nobody should be starved for touch like that.

Especially not Kurt.


	7. Quarantine, Day 5: Care Package (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurt gets to open a present. Yay, presents!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are going to be two chapters from Kurt's POV in a row, because this chapter got out of control, and I think the next section will be worse.

Kurt is awake and dressed and fed before Blaine's housemate arrives with the package. It's weirdly exciting, waiting like this, even though some of Kurt's previous purchases from Ambien-inspired sleep-shopping have been rather disappointing. (How many proofing baskets and bowl scapers did he really need for making sourdough? Not seven... of each. That's for sure.)

He gets the text and buzzes Blaine's friend into the building, then watches through the peephole as a masked blond sets down the box, waves, and leaves. Kurt keeps his own mask on when he opens the door - no need to share germs with the hallway, even if it's empty - and drags the box inside.

Opening it is a little like Christmas. Kurt pulls out his special package-opening knife, twirls it around, and picks the best seam to start slicing through.

He hasn't even gotten the top open when Blaine calls.

"Sam says he dropped off the box." Blaine sounds excited, like he's the one unwrapping a present. "Did you get it?"

"It's here, but I haven't unpacked it yet," Kurt laughs. "Should I text you pictures, or will you just let me open it?"

"You could switch the phone to speaker and narrate your unboxing adventure," Blaine suggests.

"I don't think I should post YouTube videos of me opening boxes from a sex shop," Kurt says. "I blush way too easily for that."

"You can just share them with me." Blaine offers. "I don't mind the blushing."

Kurt laughs again, but switches his phone to speaker anyway. "I'm cutting through the tape," he teases. "Now I'm opening the top. Ooh, bubble wrap! I'll put that in my stress-relief closet."

"You have an entire closet for stress relief?" Blaine asks.

"Well, not just for stress relief. That's where I keep the wrapping paper and ribbons and extra boxes. And the organizer with all my spare buttons and glue guns and glitter." Maybe that's a little too much detail. "I've had a lot of arts-and-crafts types of hobbies over the years. My hands get bored easily."

"We'll have to give them something to do, then." Blaine's innuendo sounds eager. Kurt isn't sure whether he should be excited or worried.

"Anyway. Moving on... Under the bubble wrap is something wrapped in plastic. Oh, hi! There you are!" He smiles at the stuffed arm. "Let me get you out of there. It's kind of disturbing to be wrapped in plastic, isn't it. Though you don't have a head, so I guess you can't suffocate." Kurt tears the plastic and pulls out the arm. Is it an arm with a pillow attached, or a pillow with an arm attached? Kurt can't decide. "There you go," he says to the pillow/arm/thing. "That's better, isn't it." He wraps the arm around his shoulder and snaps a selfie, then sends it to Blaine.

"Aww. Cute. Well, you are. The headless one-armed torso is a little creepy." Blaine laughs. "But I'm glad it makes you happy."

"He's not creepy! You're just jealous." Kurt looks at the photo again. "Ok. Maybe you're right. He's a little creepy. But it feels nice to be held again." He sighs. "Seriously. Thank you so much, Blaine. You didn't have to get your housemate to bring this over."

"Is that the only thing in the box?" Blaine sounds impatient. "Look under the bubble wrap."

"Okaaay..." Kurt pulls out another piece of bubble wrap, and... yes. Sure enough, there are some other objects, much smaller, over on one side of the box.

"Well...?" Blaine prompts. "What did you get?"

Kurt pulls out the first package. "Aww. You sent me some more gummy penises! Thanks."

"Because your mouth should be happy, too," Blaine says. "What else is there?"

"There's a box... two boxes. Oh. My." Kurt holds one up and reads the description. "A butt plug. And..." He picks up the second one and looks at it. "...A prostate massager. This is different from the picture you showed me, though."

"It's one that we've been carrying for a while," Blaine says. "Those are my two favorite toys. I hope you like them as much as I do."

Kurt sets them carefully aside and tries not to get hard. "Thanks."

"Make sure you clean them before you use them," Blaine continues. "There should be a bottle of a good brand of cleaning fluid in there."

Kurt pokes through the bottom of the box. "There are a bunch of bottles here..." He frowns and reads the labels. "Umm. No. These are lube."

"Yeah, don't clean them with lube," Blaine says. "There should be some other bottles."

Kurt finds two more and pulls them out. "Ok. That must be the cleaning fluid. And... this one says it's massage oil."

"Right. That should be everything. Don't get the bottles confused," Blaine advises. "The massage oil is for the outside parts of your body."

"Umm. Thanks." Kurt examines the bottles. "You know that a massage is out of the picture until the pandemic is over, don't you."

"Massage from another person, maybe," Blaine says. "But you can use it on yourself."

Kurt gives his phone a skeptical look, even though Blaine can't see him. "I've been to a spa, Blaine. There's no way I could even _reach_ the muscles that the professionals work on. And I'm pretty flexible."

"You don't use it to give yourself a backrub," Blaine says. "It's just supposed to be soothing. To help deal with touch starvation."

"How?" Kurt just has to ask. After all, the lube should be better for masturbating than lavender-scented massage oil would be.

"Want me to talk you through it?" Blaine offers. "I did a bunch of research during the first lockdown. We've got a whole page on our website with advice about techniques and products that work. The one with the massage oil is my favorite."

Kurt has all day. And this sounds... interesting. "Ok," he says. "What do I do?"

"Ok. Start by going someplace where you can lie down comfortably. Like your bed, maybe," Blaine starts.

Kurt extracts himself from the boyfriend pillow's arm, picks up the massage oil, and goes into his bedroom. "All right. I'm lying down now."

"Good. Now, this first one doesn't use the oil, but it's a good starting point. Ready?"

Kurt lies back. "Ready."

"If you're wearing a watch, or a ring, or anything on your hand or arm, take it off," Blaine begins.

Kurt takes off his watch. Why he's still wearing it, in this weird timeless quarantine space, he doesn't know. Habit, probably.

"Now turn your right hand up and bend your arm," Blaine continues.

Kurt twists his arm so that it's behind his head.

"Take your left hand and touch your fingers of your right hand."

Kurt frowns. "But my head is in the way."

"Huh?" Blaine asks. "Your head shouldn't be anywhere near your hand."

"Ok, then where's my hand supposed to be?"

"By your leg," Blaine replies.

Kurt twists again. "I don't think I'm doing this right."

"Could you take a selfie, so I can see what you're doing?" Blaine suggests.

"Not from this position," Kurt says.

"Hmmm." Blaine stops, like he's thinking. "Oh. I've got an idea. Do you have Facetime or Skype or some other one-on-one video chat app?"

"I've got Facetime, but if I need both hands, I won't be able to hold my phone," Kurt says. "I guess I could set up my laptop."

A few minutes later, Kurt's laptop is balanced on a stack of books on a chair beside his bed, screen tilted so that the camera captures him lying on the bed. Blaine apparently has some kind of tripod that will hold his phone, and has set up his own camera so that it's slightly above him.

"Ok. Let's try this again." Blaine demonstrates a way to trail the fingers of one hand down the other forearm, then switches hands. His polo shirt rucks up as he wriggles around. It's a very nice view.

Kurt imitates him. It's nice, though hardly mind-blowing.

"Do you think you've got it?" Blaine asks. "If you do it a whole bunch of times, it's pretty relaxing."

Kurt nods and keeps stroking his arm. Blaine's right.

"Want to try another technique?" Blaine asks.

"Sure," Kurt says. "I want to know what the massage oil is for."

"Ok," Blaine begins. "For this one, you need to take your shirt off." He sits up, and his head briefly disappears from view. Which would be disappointing - it's a very nice head, Kurt really hasn't looked at it enough - except for the fact that suddenly, Blaine's entire chest is exposed, tan skin and muscles and dark nipples. Oh. Hello. Blaine lies back down and raises his eyebrows at the camera.

Kurt nods, then starts to unbutton his own shirt. His fingers are slow and awkward, trying to work the buttons out of their holes while Blaine watches, barely blinking. Kurt could have sworn that Blaine's eyes were lighter than that. Maybe it's just the lighting, or something about the camera settings.

Finally Kurt manages to shrug the shirt off of his shoulders and set it aside. "Ok." He doesn't mean for it to come out as breathy as it does, but he can't help it.

Blaine reaches to his side to find a bottle. "Now put a little bit of the oil on your hand. Lie back..." He glances at the screen to see if Kurt is ready. "Now slowly... slowly... smooth it down your other arm." He demonstrates, then stops. His arm glistens. "You try it."

Kurt pours a bit of oil into his palm, then lets his hand glide down his arm.

"Get a little more oil when the first bit is gone, and keep doing that." Blaine strokes his arm, watching the screen as Kurt imitates him. "Then, when you're ready, put some on your chest. Same way. Start at your neck - yeah, right under the ear, like that - and stroke down your chest."

Kurt slides his hand along his chest, not too lightly over his ribs where he is ticklish, not lingering too long on his nipple. He can already feel his dick twitching, and playing with his nipple would just make it worse. And, well... he doesn't need to be any more aroused, not with Blaine watching him so closely.

"Close your eyes and relax," Blaine says. "Yeah. There." His voice gets huskier. "Now switch hands and put the oil on the other side of your chest."

Kurt breathes in and out, running his hand from his neck to his waist. If he tries, he can imagine that the oil-slicked hand belongs to someone else, that if he opens his eyes he'll see another face bending over him, dark lashes near enough to brush against a cheek, lips breathing against him, almost as soft as a kiss. He sighs and lets his hand pause for a moment at his waistband before reaching for a little more oil.

He hears a slight hitch in Blaine's breath over the connection and opens his eyes. "Better?" Blaine whispers.

Kurt just nods.

Blaine smiles. "Good. Keep doing that, maybe for five minutes or so. When you're used to it, you can do it for longer." He lies there, silent, then starts to spread oil on his own body again. Kurt doesn't want to close his eyes now. But then, suddenly, Blaine stops and sits up. "The web site where I got this advice suggests doing the same thing to your legs and feet," he says. "Though I think that might be hard to do by yourself."

Kurt tightens his abs and pulls his torso upright, all in one motion, then bends forward until his face touches his knees.

"Or maybe not." Blaine sounds impressed. Or something. His voice is a little rough. "Obviously, you would need to take off your pants if you want to put oil on your legs."

Kurt opens his mouth, but his voice doesn't seem to be working. He swallows, then tries again. "Obviously." He unfolds himself and steals a glance at his groin. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't strip right now. His jeans are tight enough to keep his cock contained for the moment, but if they came off... well. Kurt's not _quite_ ready to show just how much he likes watching Blaine's oil-slicked body.

Blaine watches him, then twitches, like he suddenly woke up. "There's another one. Want to try it?"

It takes Kurt a moment to realize that he needs to use some words. "Yeah. Sure. Ok."

"All right. For this one, you need a blanket." Blaine turns and pulls one out from beneath him. Kurt catches a glimpse of a bright-colored sheet that might be covered with cartoon characters. "Found one?"

Kurt climbs off his bed and looks in his closet. There's an old blanket in there, worn and soft, that might do.

"Right," Blaine says when Kurt returns. "Now wrap it around your shoulders. Good. Now grab each side and pull it, until it's as tight over your shoulders as you can get it."

Kurt suddenly realizes that those are superhero sheets under Blaine's legs, and wonders if Blaine is making himself a cape.

"Now cross your arms and pull the blanket tight," Blaine says.

"Like a cocoon?" Kurt asks.

"I think of it as a human burrito. But cocoon sounds nicer." Blaine closes his eyes for a moment. "Now hold it, tight around you. And breathe."

Kurt closes his eyes, wraps himself up as tightly as he can, and sits there, listening to Blaine's breath, in and out. It's not exactly a hug, but it's something.

"There," Blaine finally says. "Better?"

Kurt nods. It's true. Something has loosened in his shoulders, some tension that he hadn't realized that he was carrying. He looks at the computer screen and yawns.

"Try taking a nap now," Blaine says. "It's the best."

Kurt yawns again. He could almost do it, if he lies down with the blanket around him. He closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out.

*

He doesn't open his eyes until the sunlight pours through a different window and his computer chimes with a new Facetime call. It's lunchtime. Kurt has slept until noon, and his father is calling.

Kurt stretches, smiles, and answers it. "Hi Dad," he says. "I was just taking a nap." He turns and pulls his shirt back on.

"You doing ok, kiddo?" his father asks.

"Yeah," Kurt says. "Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Source for the self-soothing techniques that Blaine describes: https://psychcentral.com/blog/6-ways-to-self-soothe-when-starved-for-touch/


	8. Quarantine, Days 5-6 (Care Package(s), Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt makes some nice bread and soup for Blaine.
> 
> Really. And does that justify the rating change to explicit? ...maybe?

Kurt and Blaine text each other, off and on, throughout the afternoon. In between messages, Kurt sorts out the bottles and boxes from the care package. The pillow/arm/thing goes on the bed. The cleaning fluid goes in the bathroom. The massage oil goes on the dresser, beside the gummy penises, and the lube goes into the nightstand drawer and the boxes... Well. He should open the boxes and clean his new toys, at least. He sets them on the nightstand to dry, and then gets distracted by another round of twenty questions with Blaine.

Dinner is leftover soup, the same batch that Kurt made on Tuesday. He decides to put the remainder into a couple of empty yogurt containers and freeze it before it goes bad. The containers look amusing, sitting together on the counter, carefully labeled (calligraphy in gold Sharpie, outlined in black). Kurt takes a photo of them and texts it to Blaine. Blaine responds with a photo of a slice of pepperoni pizza.

Oh. More pizza for dinner.

Blaine doesn't seem to mind, but it makes Kurt sad, especially after Blaine was so thoughtful, sending the pillow/arm and the massage oil. (And the sex toys. But Kurt is not thinking about them. Not really. Even though he knows precisely where they are sitting on his nightstand, beside the novel he's reading.) Kurt wishes that there was something that he could do that would make Blaine feel as safe and warm as Kurt felt with his bare, oil-slicked chest wrapped in his oldest blanket, listening to Blaine breathe.

After dinner, Kurt checks in with his family. His dad is grumpy, annoyed that the idiots in the White House won't just disappear quietly and let the rest of the country start fixing everything that they've broken. Finn is doing all right, worried about his mother, but all right. Carole's asleep after her shift; it's got to be exhausting. Kurt wonders if he should send her Blaine's list of self-soothing techniques. Maybe not the link to the sex shop web site, though. Carole would probably just laugh, but Kurt wouldn't be able to look her in the eye without wondering what she thought of his sex life, and, well. There are some things you just don't ever want to discuss with your father's wife. Kurt settles for asking Blaine for some G-rated links to similar techniques, and forwards them to Carole with a nice, polite smiley face.

But reading the links makes Kurt want to try some of the other ways to soothe himself. There's one that involves stroking the side of his neck, from his ear to his throat. And it does help him relax. Mostly. But it also reminds him of the spot right _there_ , the one that makes his toes curl when someone licks or sucks or nibbles on it. And it makes him wonder what Blaine's stubble would feel like against his neck, and whether Blaine is sensitive there, or on his shoulders, or...

Kurt realizes that his hand has shifted lower on his body, to a place that isn't exactly _relaxing_ to stroke. But, oh. He needs this. He runs a finger along the seam of his jeans, along the side of his hardening cock. Yes. He definitely needs this. He undoes his button, and then his zipper, and slips his hand inside.

After a little while, he decides that his clothes are too constricting, so he wriggles out of his jeans, then unbuttons his shirt. He gets up to hang his shirt over the back of his chair, because a little masturbation is no reason to damage an article of clothing. And then, as he is heading back to the bed, he notices the sex toys sitting on his nightstand.

Hmmmmm.

He picks each one up and examines it. There are instructions in the boxes. Not great instructions, but Kurt gets it, there's a fine line between clear and clinical, and the instructions are trying to stay on the sexy side of it. But it means that some experimenting will be necessary. He gets the lube out of the drawer, pours a little onto his hand, and settles onto the bed to try them out.

An hour later, Kurt is loose, a little sticky after coming so hard from all the sensations, and warm to his core from fantasizing. He goes into the bathroom to clean up - body, toys, everything. When he comes back into the bedroom, his stomach rumbles, like it weirdly always does after sex, and he sees the gummy penises sitting on his dresser. He laughs, but grabs a handful and nibbles on them. They really are delicious and bizarre and kinky. And he can't believe that Blaine just keeps giving them to him.

Maybe his brain is still fuzzy from the orgasm. Maybe that explains it. But Kurt suddenly realizes what he can give Blaine as a thank-you for everything.

He pulls on some clothes, goes into the kitchen, and measures out some sourdough starter. It needs to warm overnight in order to... rise... appropriately.

*

Kurt wakes up, more rested than he has been in ages, and glances at his phone. Friday the 13th. Eight months ago, it felt like March 13 was just unlucky, like if they just stayed in place for a month, all the bad things would stop and they would wake up from the nightmare. But now thirteen is just another number.

So maybe today he can make his own luck. He puts on his slippers and pads into the kitchen to mix the bread dough, then leaves it to rise while he finishes his morning routine. When it's a reasonable hour for talking to other people, he texts Blaine's friend Sam, then calls Mercedes.

"Hey there, boo," Mercedes answers. "How are you holding up?"

Kurt laughs. Oh, where to begin. "Staying home is surprisingly relaxing."

Mercedes just starts laughing. "What are you up to now?"

"Nothing..." He's not exactly defensive. But. Well. He adores Mercedes, really. But he doesn't think she needs to know about sex toys. "I've been working on those masks." He has. Maybe not as much as he would if he weren't texting with Blaine all the time. But he's making progress.

"Well, when you finish them, I would love to show off a bit of style," she says. "Make a statement. Not _just_ a political one this time."

"I thought that Ms. Mercedes Jones _was_ the statement," Kurt teases.

"I am," Mercedes agrees. "The rest of the world just needs to figure it out."

That gives Kurt an idea for how he can frame his request without letting Mercedes know what he's up to. "I can finish your masks today," he says. "You could pick them up after work."

"That would be wonderful," Mercedes says. "You need anything?"

Kurt thinks through the items in his refrigerator. "I'm running low on fresh vegetables. Some spinach would be nice. And maybe some sweet potatoes." He pauses for a moment. If this seems spontaneous, if he seems like he just thought of his request on the spot, maybe Mercedes won't get suspicious. "Actually, could you help me deliver something to a friend?"

"Sure," Mercedes says. "Anything for you."

"Ok. Let me talk to him, and see if you could hand it off outside someplace. Maybe that park near your place?"

"Since when do you have other friends in my neighborhood?" Mercedes is impossible to fool.

"I actually don't know where he lives," Kurt admits. "It just seems like a convenient place for you."

"Uh-huh." Mercedes does not sound impressed. "There's a story here. And you're not telling it."

"I don't know if there's a story or not," Kurt says. "But I promise, if there is, I'll tell you first."

"You'd better." But it sounds more like a smile than a threat.

*

Sam easily agrees to the details of the plan, so Kurt has a time and place set for the delivery of his surprise for Blaine. Now, he just needs to make everything.

First: finish the masks for Mercedes. They're mostly done; they were just missing a little _something_. Maybe some contrasting stitching? But in a way that doesn't make holes that germ-laden spit can go through. Fabric paint doesn't last long, but might be better. Hmmm.

Second: decide on some kind of soup to go with the bread that he's making for Blaine. And there's the downside to making the soup first, _then_ getting vegetables from Mercedes: Kurt is limited by the ingredients that are currently in his kitchen. Normally, when he tries to ~~seduce~~ comfort someone with food, he chooses the perfect recipe, then goes grocery shopping. But today, he just needs to work with what he's got on hand. He looks through the refrigerator. God, the CSA really delivered a lot of turnips just before he went into quarantine. He opens his laptop and searches until he finds something that might do.

Blaine interrupts Kurt's chopping and dicing with texts that start as a game, and end up with competing bizarre work stories. (One might think Blaine would have the advantage, working at a sex shop and everything. But, well, tv news covers some pretty weird stuff. Especially when you include the things that happen before the cameras start rolling.) They end up on speaker again, just talking, while Kurt stretches and folds the bread dough. It's a good thing that Blaine can't see the look on Kurt's face as he carefully shapes the loaves, then sets them in the pan for one last rise.

Blaine has to do some work, so he hangs up. That's good, because Kurt needs to sauté the onions and garlic, and if Blaine heard the sizzling, he might ask what Kurt was doing, and... well. He doesn't want to give the surprise away. When the onions are translucent, he adds the turnips and potatoes and broth, then lets the soup simmer. When it's done, he blends it all until it's creamy, checks the spices, and lets it cool. It would be better to serve it hot, but it's got to travel all the way across Philadelphia. Better to let it cool off and package it up nicely in something that won't spill.

Besides. There's bread to bake. Kurt examines the loaves one last time, then scores them slightly on the tip. And then: the oven. And waiting, and hoping that it turns out all right.

The shape isn't quite right when it's done. Sourdough can be unpredictable, after all. But it will do. Hopefully. Kurt wraps one loaf in a towel, and then in a plastic bag, and then in several layers of contrasting colors of tissue paper until it's impossible to tell what's inside. The soup presentation doesn't need to be quite as elaborate, but Kurt has a good, microwave-safe leftover container with a tight-fitting lid. He wraps a ribbon around it, all the way around, crossing underneath, then back to the top and tied with a bow. Everything gets packed into a re-useable Trader Joe's bag with another cloth holding it all in place. Then Kurt labels everything, so Mercedes won't accidentally open it. God, it would probably scar her for life.

The masks for Mercedes get similar treatment. Not as many layers of tissue paper; Kurt doesn't plan to Facetime with her while she unwraps them. But hopefully the masks look elaborate enough to keep Mercedes from snooping into the bag that's going to Blaine.

The delivery takes time. Time for Mercedes to arrive in the hallway outside Kurt's apartment and pick up the bags. Time for her to drive to the park near her home, and to wait for Blaine's friend to arrive. Time for Sam to take the bag containing Blaine's food and head home, then leave it outside Blaine's door.

Kurt sits at his kitchen table, computer open beside him so the camera shows both his face and his own bowl of soup. (The sourdough that Kurt made for himself is just out of the field of view, waiting until the right moment.) Waiting. Waiting...

The computer chimes with Blaine's call.

"Hi there!" Kurt chirps. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Blaine is sitting on his bed with the Trader Joe's bag beside him. "There was this bag sitting outside my room, and Sam said that I should Facetime you before I opened it."

"You got the bag without any face-to-face contact, right?" Kurt has to ask.

"Of course," Blaine says. "He texted me. It was very mysterious." He raises his eyebrows. "So what's in the bag?"

"Why, I have no idea." Kurt presses his lips together to keep from grinning too widely. "Why don't you take everything out and show me?"

Blaine grins back at him, then reaches into the bag and takes out the bowl. "Is this..." He unties the ribbon, removes the lid, and sniffs it. "Is this _soup_?" He closes his eyes for a moment. "Kurt, did you make this? That's so sweet of you. Thanks!"

Kurt laughs. "You can't possibly be smelling it. It's cooled off too much. Sam said you have a microwave in there, right?"

"I do," Blaine says. "Are you telling me that I need to heat this up before I can open that other package that I saw?"

Kurt tries to keep from laughing. "Yes. Things should definitely heat up before you check out the package."

"Ok..." Blaine disappears for a moment. There's a humming sound, and then the ding of a microwave alarm, and then Blaine is back. This time when he closes his eyes and sniffs, it's with genuine appreciation. "Ok. Now I know why you wanted me to heat this up. It smells heavenly."

Kurt smiles. "Ok. Now you can open the other one."

Blaine lifts the wrapped bread out of the bag and examines it for a moment, then slides a finger under the seam where the paper is taped shut. He gets top layer off, then the next and the next. "Wow." He looks at the pile of blue and grey and white paper beside him, then at the still-wrapped loaf. "There are a lot of layers here."

But he's down to the last three. First, the final tissue paper. Then the plastic bag. Then the towel. Then...

Blaine takes out the bread and stares. "Kurt," he finally says. "Is this a sourdough... penis??"

Kurt releases the breath he was holding. "I know it looks a little weird, sourdough is really finicky and you never know what's going to happen when it rises and bakes and..."

Blaine lifts it out of the towel, then looks at Kurt. And he doesn't break eye contact, not once, as he raises the bread to his mouth and slowly, ever so slowly, licks it. From its... shaft... all the way to its head. Then he glances down at the bread before looking back at Kurt. "It's gorgeous."

"Oh." And Kurt's entire seductive plan just evaporates as every bit of blood that should be in his brain goes immediately to his groin. "Umm. You know the crust will be sharp if you break it open." He tries for detached and amused, but the effect is ruined by his overly breathy giggle.

Blaine doesn't seem the least bit bothered by Kurt's failure to maintain any kind of sensual cool. He just leans towards the computer and slides the loaf into his mouth. Not the entire thing. That would be a bit much. (It really did rise more than Kurt had expected.) Just the head, for now. He watches Kurt from beneath those eyelashes (god, those _eyelashes_ ), then pulls off. It doesn't make a _pop_ sound. It's bread. But Kurt's imagination fills in the gap, anyways.

"You know that bread isn't really a sex toy..." Kurt tries again to manage some kind of a safety warning.

Blaine shrugs, looking at the bread. And then he gives Kurt a grin that is, _god_ , absolutely _mischievous_ , and dips the bread in the soup.

The head of the bread. Into the white, creamy soup. Which sticks to the tip and glistens and...

Oh god. Blaine's tongue flicks out and he _licks_ it. The sticky white... soup. Off the head. And then he smiles and _swallows_ and licks the remainder off of his lips.

And Kurt may have planned this, but he hadn't planned for _this_. God, his pants are way too tight. Uncomfortably tight. He shifts in his chair, but it doesn't help. "Blaine..." It comes out as a whisper. Kurt gulps and tries again. "Blaine. I... think I need to go into the bedroom. I... ummm... I forgot some things in there." He waves his hand in some kind of vaguely encouraging gesture, like he's trying to say _keep eating the soup_ except it probably looks like he's just flailing.

"I'll keep enjoying the soup," Blaine says. "But... you could bring your computer with you? So we could... enjoy it... together?"

And, oh god, _yes_. Kurt picks up his computer and carries it to his bedroom. This should be incredibly sexy, going into his bedroom with a hot guy. And it is. It is. Blaine keeps making suggestive noises as he sips the soup, and Kurt doesn't trip over anything on the way in, because that would be awful and what would he do without his computer for the next week? And he gets his computer set up on the chair with the books, and takes off his pants and shirt and is thinking about stripping out of his underwear, but then he looks up at the screen. Blaine is lying there on his bed, in a sleeveless undershirt and boxers. And, oh god, he is still holding the bread.

Blaine lifts the bread to his mouth and runs his tongue around the head. His boxers are prominently tented, and Kurt just can't take it anymore.

"Put the damn bread down and get out of your underwear," Kurt orders.

Blaine's eyebrows shoot up, but he does what he is told. Kurt mirrors him, slipping a hand under his waistband and wriggling out of his underwear until he is lying on his bed, naked, watching the computer screen. He looks away, briefly, to make sure he grabs the correct lube from his nightstand. When he looks back, Blaine is already starting to stroke himself. And then it's like the massage again, imitating each other's motions, except that the stroking changes to thrusting, and it sounds like Blaine is babbling a stream of nonsense words, or maybe Kurt just can't understand anything because every bit of sensation is focused on his cock until his balls tighten and then release and...

Kurt comes to his senses when Blaine starts chuckling. "You're not supposed to laugh," Kurt tries to grumble, but he can't, because he's laughing too.

When they've finished cleaning up, Kurt takes his computer back to the kitchen and they sit in their underwear, eating their soup and stealing glances at each other's smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soup recipe: https://www.slenderkitchen.com/recipe/creamy-turnip-soup (I haven't tried this one yet). Alas, it doesn't come with... oh, god, I just can't with the innuendo any more.
> 
> (I can't believe I actually wrote this chapter.)


	9. Quarantine, Days 6-7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine babbles and Santana is a critic.
> 
> There is also phone sex. Not involving Santana.

Blaine Devon Anderson is in love.

He's not quite sure when it happened. But as he sits on his bed in his underwear, looking at his phone's tiny screen as Kurt smiles at him over a soup spoon, he knows.

Maybe it happened at the moment when Kurt insisted that Blaine tear up the sourdough penis and _just eat the damn thing_ , as Kurt put it. "It's just going to get soggy and moldy if you don't. You don't want a _moldy penis_ to be a metaphor for our relationship, do you?"

Blaine still hesitates before taking a bite. After all, he doesn't want to use his _teeth_. Not after all the extended innuendo, all that licking and sucking. But Kurt's right. The bread won't last.

And besides, there's that word. _Relationship_. It rolls right off of Kurt's tongue, like he doesn't think twice about it. And although Blaine has quite a few fantasies about Kurt's tongue, it's the _word_ that he can't stop thinking about.

Bread won't last. Blaine's relationships haven't, either. But he wants this one to.

*

It's getting more difficult to find places that give COVID tests on a Saturday. Fortunately, Blaine made his appointment way back on Monday, as soon as possible after he got his exposure notification. It's a good thing, because apparently a lot of people got those notifications, and they're all heading out to get tested. As it is, Blaine has to wait in his car for more than an hour. He texts Kurt, who has his own appointment on the other side of town.

One week down. One to go. Neither of them feels sick so far, which is a relief. But it feels like it's been an eternity already.

*

Sam and Santana are at work when Blaine gets home. Which is good, because it isn't long before Kurt texts to say that he's also back, and would Blaine like to Facetime? * _winking smiley_ *

Blaine can't set up his tripod fast enough. He's sitting on his bed, watching the screen, when Kurt answers. And...

Kurt is sitting on his own bed. Wearing a towel. And nothing else.

"I took a shower after I got back." Kurt's eyes dance with... something. "And I started thinking about the toys you sent me. Your favorite toys. And I was wondering if you would be willing to show me what you like about them."

"Um. Yes?" Blaine tries to make it a question, although the correct answer is clearly _hell, yes_. "Let me get out of these clothes."

"Take your time." Kurt's eyes are hooded, and, _oh_. Blaine knows what they were dancing with before. That's _lust_.

And Blaine tries to make it sexy, really he does, but he's kind of in a rush, because _wow_ , the look in those eyes. So it isn't long before he's back on his bed, naked, holding a bottle of lube, trying very hard to be smooth. "Any requests?"

Kurt laughs. God, Blaine could get used to that breathless laugh in bed. "How about the plug?"

Blaine nods and sorts through his toy box, then picks out the same style he sent to Kurt. "This?" He holds his hand, palm-up, towards the camera, trying to look like some kind of sexually-explicit advertisement.

"Yes." Kurt's eyes flick from Blaine's hand to the rest of Blaine's body.

"All right," Blaine says, settling on his bed, pillow under his hips. He glances at the screen and sees Kurt, slowly stroking himself as he watches. And that's enough to get Blaine immediately hard. He pours lube onto his hand, slicks the plug, and watches Kurt's eyes darken. "It vibrates. You can try different settings and see what you like." But then he needs to turn away so Kurt can see what he's doing as he circles his hole with the plug, then slowly pushes it in.

When he gets the vibrations adjusted, he looks back at the phone. Kurt is watching hungrily.

"Ok." It's difficult for Blaine to get the words out. "Your turn."

Kurt examines the plug in his own hand, then carefully applies lube to it. And then he looks up at Blaine, raises his eyebrows, and twists so that he can reach his ass. He looks briefly thoughtful, like he's making a few adjustments to the position or the vibration speed. Then he closes his eyes, leans back, and takes one experimental stroke of his cock. His eyes blink wide open and he strokes again, and again.

Oh, fuck. Blaine just wants to reach out and touch, or maybe put that gorgeous dick into his mouth, he could almost come just from watching...

"Just from watching?" Kurt looks briefly amused before stroking himself again.

Oops. Blaine didn't mean to say that out loud. But god fucking damn, it's not like he has any filter during sex at the best of times, and good god Kurt's _hand_ and his _hips_ and oh fuck Blaine is already coming and god damn holy freaking fuck _KURT_...

Kurt throws his head back as he thrusts into his hand one more time. And then Kurt is coming, too.

When they've both regained the use of their brains, Blaine shows Kurt how to turn off the vibrations and remove the plug.

Kurt looks amused. "How do you do that?" he asks.

"You just have to relax your muscles," Blaine explains.

"Not _that_ ," Kurt laughs. "What you're doing now."

Blaine looks around. Confused. He is barely able to move, let alone do _anything_.

"Go from babbling - sexy babbling, trust me, it's wonderful, don't ever stop doing it - but go from babbling to this smooth professional seller of sex toys?" Kurt presses his lips together, like that is the only way he can stop the laughter from escaping.

Blaine shrugs, embarrassed. But also glad that he only babbled about sex, not about everything else that he's feeling.

"It's ok," Kurt says. "I'm sorry I said anything." But his eyes sparkle. "It is very cute, though. I like both the babbling and the sexy professional."

Blaine relaxes again.

They spend several minutes just lying there, watching each other. The semen is sticky, and Blaine knows that he should clean up, but he doesn't want to go.

Finally Kurt is the one who breaks the spell. "I should clean everything." He points to the toy, then to his stomach.

"Me, too," Blaine admits. "And I should shower while my housemates are gone."

Kurt sits up. "I'm going to be busy for a while," he says. "I should talk to my dad. Not that I want to bring up parents while we're like this..." He gestures at the lube, the toy, the messy bed, then at his own naked body. "But. Well. I'll call you after I'm done. Ok?"

"Ok." Blaine is still smiling at the screen after Kurt's face has disappeared.

*

Blaine sings in the shower. And when he gets back into his room, he pulls his keyboard away from the wall and plugs it in. It's been a long time since he did any songwriting. Since the beginning of the first lockdown, maybe? He knows that he had been trying to write, back when he and Sam and Santana and the rest of the band still thought that things would be closed for just a little while. But it was hard to write in isolation; Blaine needs to interact with people to keep his creativity functioning. And yes, he realizes that his housemates are _people_. Even Santana. Most of the time, at least. But although Blaine likes his housemates, they don't provide the kind of complex emotional stimulus that leads to good songwriting.

But now... now Blaine's ready to write a love song. If he can just figure out the words to go with the melody that's stuck in his head. And the chords, at least enough to give Sam a starting point. And they don't have a drummer anymore, or a bass player, but maybe this could be a piano-and-guitar ballad or something? Oh, the production doesn't matter, not without the words...

He's busy scribbling down his ideas when his phone sings at him. He doesn't look at the screen; he just taps it and answers. "Hey, you."

"I'm not your phone-sex bootie call, Blanderson," Santana says. "I'm downstairs. And we need to talk."

"Oh!" And with that, the song disappears from Blaine's brain.

"Sam says he's been helping you deliver some of our inventory to some mysterious fuck-buddy of yours." Santana's heels click on the wood of their living-room floor. "You know that comes out of your paycheck. Right?"

"Of course, Santana," Blaine replies. "And I ordered more to replace everything. We're not going to run out. I'm paying attention."

"Good. Because I'm hoping that this week's sales are a trend, not a blip." Something creaks, maybe the old sofa. It always makes noises when they sit down. "But there's more." It sounds like she turns on the television, then mutes it. "You're not breaking quarantine for this guy, are you?"

"Of course not," Blaine reassures her.

"Blaine." She must be serious, because she's using his actual name. "You realize that you didn't deny that you've got a fuck-buddy."

Blaine thinks back. And... oops. He hadn't meant to tell Santana. (Sam... well, Sam usually accepts Blaine's explanations at face value. Blaine doesn't worry about Sam. But Santana's a different story.)

"I heard you singing something new, Blaine. And I know what that means." Her nails tap on something. Maybe the remote.

"He sent me soup, Santana. Soup. And bread." Blaine ought to know better than to try to defend himself. But he never can.

"Uh-huh," she says. "And now you're in love."

Blaine doesn't answer.

"And when he dumps you, you're going to get all morose and write bad break-up songs." If she were in the same room with him, she would be giving Blaine a pointed look. He can tell.

"Those songs aren't that bad," Blaine defends himself. "Those were some of our best ones." Santana was really good at singing about pain, too.

"The band is over," Santana says. "We run a sex shop now. And maybe you haven't been watching the news, but the fucking virus is spreading through this country like a rumor at one of your weirdo comic conventions." She sighs. "Look, Blanderson. Trouty Mouth and I have picked up your pieces too many times already. We don't need to deal with your shit during another lockdown. Which is coming, whether you're expecting it or not."


	10. Jinxed (Quarantine, Days 7-9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurt is superstitious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: unreliable narrator (or the narrator does not speak for the writer).

"I love you too, Dad." Kurt sighs as he hangs up. They both had known that Kurt wouldn't be going to Ohio for Thanksgiving. They didn't argue about it. But it still hurts, like there is a giant empty spot in Kurt's chest where his heart is supposed to be. He looks at his phone, then opens his recent calls so he can dial Blaine. He could use an orgasm right now. Or maybe just a friendly ear.

But before Kurt can tap on Blaine's number, his phone rings. It's not Blaine. It's Mercedes.

"You do realize your boy is straight, don't you?" Mercedes doesn't even bother to say hello.

"Huh?" Kurt blinks at the phone.

"Don't mess with me, Kurt Hummel. You made me a couple masks so I would deliver a present to a guy you've got a crush on." Mercedes waits for him to concede the point.

"I hope you like the masks, at least." Kurt's attempt to deflect is pathetic, and he knows it.

"I love the masks," Mercedes says. "But that boy isn't going to love you. Seriously, Kurt, I know you've been lonely. And that boy is BUILT, I'll give you that. But he is totally straight."

Kurt closes his eyes. "He's not, Mercedes. Trust me."

"If he isn't straight, why was he checking out my ass?" she asks.

"Wait. What?" Kurt blinks again. "You didn't even meet him."

"In the park?" Her eye-roll can be heard from across the city. "When I gave him that bag?"

"Ohhhh!" Kurt finally gets it. "You mean Sam! Blaine's housemate! Oh, yeah, Sam's definitely straight."

"Ok," Mercedes says. "So who's Blaine?"

Oops. "Blaine is a guy I met just before quarantine," Kurt says primly. "He couldn't meet you himself, because he's in quarantine too."

"You know that isn't enough story for me, Kurt," Mercedes scolds. "Spill."

So Kurt tells her the story. Well, the PG-rated version of the story. (Not G, because he can't avoid mentioning the press conference at Four Seasons Total Landscaping, and Mercedes knows that Fantasy Island was the only business in the area that was open that day. But he manages to be vague about the gummy penises and butt plugs and lube and everything.)

"We're taking care of each other while we're in quarantine," Kurt says. "That's all."

"Uh-huh." Mercedes knows him better than that. "You've fallen _hard_ for that boy. And you've only met him once."

Kurt doesn't try to contradict her.

"Don't get your heart broken, Kurt Hummel," Mercedes warns. "Especially by a boy you barely know."

"You have no idea how well I know him," Kurt says.

"Uh-huh," Mercedes repeats. "I guess I'll need to find out for myself."

"Mercedes..." Kurt tries to sound threatening, but it comes out more like a plea.

"Stay safe, Kurt," she says, and ends the call.

Kurt wonders just how worried he should be.

*

Kurt is in the middle of dinner prep when Finn texts.

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:38 PM [Finn]_  
**_hey did you see about the vaccine?_ **

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:41 PM [KHummel]_  
**The Pfizer news?**  
**That's been out since Tuesday _._**

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:44 PM [Finn]_  
**_90 %_ **  
**_thats like really effective yeah?_ **  
**_how soon do you think mom & burt could get it?_ **

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:46 PM [KHummel]_  
**It's not even approved yet.**

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:49 PM [Finn]_  
**_yeah but it prob will right?_ **

God. Finn _knows_ better than to do this. They've been through this before.

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:51 PM [KHummel]_  
**You know I don't even want to think about it.**

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:53 PM [Finn]_  
**_yeah yeah your allergic to hope_ **

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:56 PM [KHummel]_  
**I've made it this far in life by keeping my expectations in check, Finn.**

_Sat, Nov 14, 4:59 PM [Finn]_  
**_ok dude but it would be awesome if your dad and my mom could be in the same room again you know_ **  
**_take care little bro_ **

_Sat, Nov 14, 5:02 PM [KHummel]_  
**You too, Finn.**

*

Neither Kurt's nor Blaine's test results come back on Sunday.

"I mean, it's Sunday." Blaine says, as if that makes it completely reasonable. "Of course nobody works on Sundays."

"The virus doesn't take holy days," Kurt frets. "Which is yet another piece of evidence for the non-existence of god, by the way."

"Kurt. We're halfway through." Blaine's good mood seems impervious to worry. "One week from today we'll be out of quarantine."

"Don't say that," Kurt replies in horror.

"Don't say what?" Blaine sounds confused.

Kurt sighs. He knows that he hasn't told Blaine about most of the things he has worried about over the years. "My dad's cancer is in remission," he explains. "He gets checked regularly to make sure it isn't back. And I never, _ever_ talk about what it would be like to get good news."

"Because you don't want to be disappointed?" Blaine is _trying_ to understand, at least.

"Because it's bad luck," Kurt replies. "Tempting fate. Pissing off the universe."

"I thought you didn't believe in a god. Or gods." So Blaine _had_ been listening during that long conversation last night, after they had sex. Which is impressive. Kurt barely remembers what they talked about.

"No," Kurt says. "I don't believe in any kind of deity."

"But you think you could piss off fate? The Fates are just a bunch of Greek gods, you know." Blaine argues.

Kurt shrugs. "I've seen enough things go wrong, when everything looks like it's going to work out," he says.

"So you're a pessimist?" Blaine pushes him.

"A realist." Kurt has made this argument before, with Finn, with Carole, with his dad.

"A realist who is afraid of tempting fate," Blaine points out.

Kurt shakes his head. "I'm just scared of what could happen," he says. "This _year_. This crazy, _horrible_ year. Don't you worry about it?"

"Of course," Blaine says. "But there's a part of me that will always believe in happy endings, too."

Discussion of happy endings leads to innuendo, which leads to sex. Because of course it does. And that's a good thing.

*

The results finally come back late Monday morning. Kurt hasn't even finished writing his text when he sees the one from Blaine.

_Mon, Nov 16, 10:23 AM [Blaine]_  
**_Negative!!!!!!_ **  
**_!!!!_ **  
**_!!_ **  
**_!_ **

Kurt laughs and just calls him. "Me too!" he says as soon as Blaine answers. "I liked the text." Just like the one that Kurt had sent to Blaine the first time.

"I thought you would." Blaine's smile is obvious in his voice.

"Want to switch to Facetime?" Kurt asks. "I have a toy that I haven't played with yet."

"Ummm. Yes. Give me a few minutes to get ready, ok?" Blaine pauses. "You should use the bathroom first."

It's a useful tip, Kurt thinks, as he sprawls naked on his bed, glancing through information about prostate massagers on his phone. His computer is set up on the chair again, and he's got the massager and the lube ready, and...

His computer chimes, and Kurt realizes that he has to abandon his carefully planned position to answer. But that's ok, because his screen suddenly fills with Blaine's grinning face. And then, as Blaine steps back, with his naked body and his bed.

"Just so you know..." Blaine's voice is unusually low. "I fantasize a lot when I do this."

Kurt finds it hard to breathe. "Tell me."

Blaine lies down on his side and props his head on one hand. "It starts with kissing," he says. "Just lying down, kissing."

Kurt closes his eyes and imagines.

"But then I see your neck, all stretched out like that, and start kissing it, too. And then sucking..." Blaine glances up, as if to see how Kurt is reacting.

"Sucking is good," Kurt murmurs. "No teeth, though."

"No teeth," Blaine agrees. "And then I start kissing down your chest..."

"Careful," Kurt warns. "I'm ticklish."

"I carefully avoid the ticklish spots, because my mouth really wants to be on your dick, anyways." Blaine licks his lips.

Kurt takes a bit of lube and begins to stroke himself.

"And then when you're hard..." Blaine watches Kurt's hand.

Kurt thinks that it wouldn't take long to get hard in Blaine's scenario. In fact, he would be ready before Blaine's lips reached his ribs. But he doesn't want to interrupt the fantasy. Even with just the words and his own hand, he's _there_.

"I take some lube and smooth it onto your fingers." Blaine pours a little lube onto his own hand, then slathers it onto the massager. "I turn so you can reach me. And then you push one of those long, gorgeous fingers into me."

Kurt laughs, though there's more air than sound. "You've never seen my fingers."

"I watch them," Blaine responds. "On your chest. On your dick."

 _Oh_. Kurt swallows, like the air has suddenly become as thick as molasses.

"You add another finger. And then another. And twist." Blaine carefully moves the massager into position. "And then I'm ready. And you take your hand away."

"And put on a condom," Kurt adds.

"Of course," Blaine agrees. "And add some more lube. And then..." He wriggles and closes his eyes for a moment. "And oh god, yeah, right there, just like that.... I mean, I shift a little, and oh fuck, there it is, oh holy fuck yes, please, yes harder, oh my god KURT..." Blaine's face contorts as his hips buck. When he finally stops moving, his belly glistens.

And Kurt is more than ready to try. He wets his massager with lube, then pushes it in. It takes a little adjustment, and then. _Oh_.

"Try the vibrations," Blaine suggests. Kurt looks over at him and nearly comes from just seeing the look in Blaine's eyes.

But he manages to flick the switch on the remote and... _aaaaahhhhhHHHH_...

The orgasm goes, and it goes, and _wow_ it's still _going_. Kurt finally collapses and extracts the massager.

"Yeah?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah," Kurt agrees. He lies there for a moment, boneless. "God, Blaine." Kurt looks over at Blaine's smile on his computer screen. "Sorry. I meant to share my own fantasy with you, but I got distracted."

Blaine laughs. "That happens sometimes."

Kurt closes his eyes again. "God. I just wish I could _touch_ you." His eyes blink wide open. "Not that there's anything wrong with the toys, the toys are amazing, thank you so much for them..."

"I know," Blaine says. "I know. In fact... my fantasy is still going."

Kurt shakes his head. "I don't think I'm ready for more. Not quite yet."

"Not like that," Blaine says. "In my fantasy, I roll over... and put my head onto your shoulder."

"Where you were sucking?" Kurt asks.

"Just below that," Blaine says. "I put my head on your shoulder, and my arm around your waist. And you wrap your other arm around my back."

"And then I rub your back, and run my fingers through your hair," Kurt continues.

"I forgot to gel today," Blaine apologizes.

"It looks soft," Kurt says. "I wish I could feel it."

"It's just a mess." Blaine sounds like he's embarrassed.

"I like it," Kurt replies. "So much that I want to bury my face in it. And I _do_ bury my face in it. Because this is a fantasy."

"And we just lie here. Together," Blaine finishes.

"Together," Kurt agrees.

*

"I can't believe we haven't talked about Ohio before this," Kurt says as he sorts out his washable delicates to go into the laundry. "You actually grew up, what, two hours away from me. Why didn't either of us think about Ohio when we were playing twenty questions?"

"Well, _I_ at least was trying to impress you," Blaine replies. "I saw the way that you were dressed, that day we met. It didn't scream ' _small-town Ohio_ ' to me."

"I try to defy expectations." Kurt lifts his chin, though he knows Blaine can't see him, not over the phone, while it's in his pocket, on speaker. "Though, yes, I had to learn all the different laundry settings to protect my wardrobe. Given that I lived in Ohio."

"Which is why you have an actual washing machine in your apartment." And that brings the conversation back to its original topic. "I'm jealous," Blaine says. "My room is starting to stink."

"I'm impressed that you haven't run out of polo shirts yet," Kurt teases.

"I don't get rid of them when I buy more," Blaine admits. "You can't tell over Facetime, but some of them are getting pretty worn out."

"I can't tell because you aren't wearing anything during most of our Facetime sessions," Kurt reminds him.

"I do actually wear clothes most of the time," Blaine defends himself. "If you saw me in person, you would know."

"Sure I would," Kurt smirks. "Because I would have to remove all your clothes myself."

"God, Kurt," Blaine groans. "How long is it going to take you to finish sorting your laundry?"

Kurt laughs. "Not much longer."

"Have you ever had sex on top of a washing machine?" Blaine asks.

"My washer and dryer are stacked on each other," Kurt says. "And before I moved in here, I was using a laudromat. And those places are disgusting."

"I'll put that fantasy aside," Blaine says. "Unless you want to try at my place."

"Ha," Kurt says. "You've warned me about Santana. I wouldn't want to risk it."

"Ok. Fine. No acting out my washing machine fantasies." Blaine sounds disappointed. "But... assuming we don't get sick in the next five days..."

"Which we aren't assuming," Kurt reminds him. "No trusting that things will work out." He's had this argument with his father, about diet and exercise and doctor's appointments. It's too easy to get lax, to skip doing things that are unpleasant.

"Ok. No assuming," Blaine agrees. "But, hypothetically." He stops for a moment, like he's gathering his words. "I would just like to see you. Face to face. For dinner, or a movie..."

Kurt blinks and puts down the shirt that he's holding. "Just to be clear," Kurt starts. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Yes," Blaine says. "A date."

"You realize that the sex toys and the pornographic bread put us a long way beyond first dates," Kurt points out.

"Which means we could sleep together afterwards," Blaine finishes. "We wouldn't have to follow any three-date rules or anything."

Kurt sighs. Sex, actual sex, and then being held all night like in their shared fantasy. God, it would be nice. "Yes," he says.

"Yes?" Blaine says. "To a date, or sleeping together, or...?"

"To all of it," Kurt says.

It sounds like Blaine lets out a breath.

"I mean, we'll have done everything we possibly can to be safe and responsible." Kurt is talking at least partly to himself. "Two weeks without interacting with anyone face to face. You'll be literally the safest person I could be with." He could almost jump up and down and clap. This is the best quarantine possible.

"I am so happy to hear you say that," Blaine says. "You can't imagine, Kurt..." And then he stops. "Santana's calling. I'll get back to you."

Kurt hangs up his phone with a smile. He's still smiling as he starts the laundry, goes into the kitchen, makes a cup of tea, sits down to scroll through the news...

 _Oh shit_. Kurt clicks the link.

_"Philadelphia announced new coronavirus restrictions on Monday that aim to combat a lack of mask wearing and social distancing indoors at public spaces, restaurants, gyms and inside private homes."_

Kurt skims through the rest of the article. Restaurants closed, ok, that makes sense. No fans at football games, hah, of course. Fewer people in retail stores, and everyone has to wear a mask. Duh. No visiting between households...

No visiting between households.

_"Philadelphia's restrictions are focused on reducing opportunities for people to linger indoors with people not from their household and where they'd have to remove their face masks."_

Like, for instance, kissing a very hot and adorable sex shop worker.

_Shit._

*

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:23 PM [Blaine]_  
**_Did you see the news?_ **

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:25 PM [KHummel]_  
**Yeah.**

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:27 PM [Blaine]_  
**_We could have a picnic._ **  
**_It's just indoor dining that's shut down._ **

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:30 PM [KHummel]_  
**And retail. And schools.**

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:33 PM [Blaine]_  
**_Retail is restricted, not totally shut down._ **  
**_The shop is going to switch to all online_ **  
**_keep the outside door locked_ **  
**_so we won't have to deal with people who won't wear masks._ **

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:36 PM [KHummel]_  
**That's good.**  
**I'm glad you're planning to be safe.**

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:39 PM [Blaine]_  
**_Santana is really good about these things._ **  
**_How about your work?_ **

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:41 PM [KHummel]_  
**I don't know.**  
**I think we're probably essential.**  
**I was already driving my gear in my own van.**

Kurt pauses, not sure how to break this. He finally opens a web browser and just copies the text.

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:46 PM [KHummel]_  
**"Philadelphia's restrictions are focused on reducing opportunities for people to linger indoors with people not from their household and where they'd have to remove their face masks."**

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:49 PM [Blaine]_  
**_Yeah I can't believe people were getting together to watch football without masks._ **  
**_I mean I love football, but I can drink beer on my own couch and celebrate on Twitter or whatever._ **

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:51 PM [KHummel]_  
**No.**  
**That isn't it.**  
**"people not from their household"**  
**That's us, Blaine.**  
**We're different households.**

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:55 PM [Blaine]_  
**_Yes..._ **  
**_but..._ **  
**_you don't mean we can't..._ **  
**_Kurt?_ **  
**_KURT??_ **

_Mon, Nov 16, 4:59 PM [KHummel]_  
**Phone sex is actually pretty awesome.**  
**See you when there's a vaccine.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been thinking about how to deal with this for the past week. The happy ending is not Jossed. I promise. I have a plan. (Well, 12% of a plan.)
> 
> Source for Philadelphia news quotes: https://www.nbcphiladelphia.com/news/coronavirus/philadelphia-targets-indoor-gatherings-gyms-and-dining-with-new-covid-19-restrictions/2599101/


	11. Quarantine, Days 9-11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dolly Parton will save us all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally put music notes at the beginning, but this time they're going at the end. For Reasons.

Blaine sits on his bed, doom-scrolling.

There was news about a vaccine trial last week, of course, yes, he's seen that already. And it's been a really long time since Blaine took AP Stats, but 90% effective sounds really good. And then there's another announcement, 94.5% effective, that sounds even better. But all the articles with their technical jargon don't answer Blaine's question: when will it be ok to kiss a stranger? Or, well, not a stranger, because it feels as if he has known Kurt forever. But... if Kurt isn't a stranger, what is he?

Blaine texts links to Kurt. Kurt responds, at least. But he doesn't say much. Just a brief acknowledgment.

It's hard to go to sleep. Blaine boils water in his electric kettle and makes himself some chamomile tea. It only helps a little. So when he's finished the tea, he finds the bottle of tequila that Santana gave him, and pours himself a little of it.

*

He wakes with a headache. Right. Tequila. He drinks some water and looks at his phone. No messages overnight. So he sighs, masks up to go to the bathroom before Sam and Santana get out of bed, and returns to the room without showering. He eats a slice of bread - not sourdough, he finished that a long time ago - and looks through his mini-fridge. There's some more milk, a few slices of turkey, and a cold slice of pizza. And lime juice.

He looks at the bottle of tequila.

Margaritas are a horrible breakfast.

Blaine makes himself one anyway. And then he starts doom-scrolling again.

Two hours later, he's stressed about the slow-moving attempt at a fascist coup that's going on. And wtf, people, are you seriously claiming that the virus is a conspiracy when you're _dying from it_? Oh, and there's a major hurricane named for a Greek letter that means "small," and it's hitting Nicaragua. Aren't hurricanes supposed to, like, be named after _people_ and hit Florida or Texas or wherever in the summer?

He hears a door slam and a car start. Sam has already left, so that must be Santana.

Blaine looks at the tequila, then at his empty cup, and decides to make himself another drink.

Which is why he's not thinking quite straight when he reads that the vaccine research was funded by _Dolly Parton_. An actual, literal angel (at least on television) who is loved by every person with a functioning heart. And gives books to children. _Books_. To _children_.

Maybe there is hope in this world, after all.

Blaine needs to sing. Well, first, he needs to pee. And then he needs to sing.

*

 _🎵_ _I can't live without you if the love was gone  
Everything is nothing if you got no one  
And you did walk in the night  
Slowly losing sight  
of the real thing _ _🎵_

Blaine's music app has had Dolly Parton's entire discography on shuffle for six hours. Well, ok, he stopped to make a sandwich at one point. And he used the bathroom a few times. But he's been singing for hours. Though at least he switched to drinking water after he started listening to Dolly. Six hours of tequila wouldn't do anything for his voice. Or his liver. Or his brain.

No. Wait. He hasn't abandoned alcohol for singing in order to do the right thing; that would be Kurt's kind of reasoning. _Blaine_ is singing as supplication, in hopes that the Angel of Tennessee will intervene and bless him with a way out of this mess. But it's turned into singing as misery, as joy, as pain, as hope, as catharsis. And so Blaine is dancing around the room in a ratty t-shirt and boxer shorts, singing his heart out along with Dolly, listening to a fraction of the hundreds of songs that turned up when he did a search for her on his app.

The song changes. Blaine stops dancing for a moment, listens, then starts again.

 _🎵_ _Two doors down  
they're laughing and drinking and having a party  
And two doors down  
they're not aware that I'm around  
But here I am  
crying my heart out, feeling sorry  
But they're having a party just  
two doors down _ _🎵_

Blaine's phone chimes with a Facetime call. He stops the music and answers it, heart pounding.

"We're actually quite aware that you're crying your heart out, Blanderson," Santana says.

"And we're not actually having a party," Sam adds. His face is beside Santana's on the screen. They're sitting on the couch in the living room.

"Sorry," Blaine says. "I didn't realize you were home."

"That's because you've been singing at the top of your lungs," Santana points out.

"Not that there's anything wrong with singing country music," Sam adds. "It don't mean a thang if it ain't got that twang, you know."

"And even _I_ am totally in favor of Dolly," Santana says. "Though I still think she should have gotten together with Jolene a long time ago. They're obviously in love."

Blaine sighs.

"But that's beside the point," Santana continues. "We all know what it means when you start doing your misery karaoke thing. And Trouty Mouth and I are here to stage an intervention."

"Though it doesn't make any sense," Sam says. "That Kurt dude sent you a present. And his friend Mercedes has been texting me non-stop with questions about you. Like she's worried that you have been leaving a trail of dead bodies or broken hearts or something behind you. Like _you're_ going to hurt _him_."

Blaine sighs again. "It's complicated," he says. "He didn't dump me, Santana. Not really. He just says we can't be together."

"Sounds like a dumping to me, Blanderson," Santana comments.

"I asked him out on a date," Blaine explains. "But we're quarantined until this weekend. When the new restrictions start."

"You don't have to go to dinner and a movie, you know," Santana reminds him. "Just because you usually dress like a grandpa doesn't mean you have to date like it's the twentieth century."

"I thought you were already having phone sex." Sam looks confused.

"Yes, we were having phone sex," Blaine says. "And yes, we could _keep_ having phone sex. He even said so. I just... want to see him again. In person."

"So go to his apartment and jump him," Santana suggests. "You know where he lives. You don't need to go out on a date for that."

"He reminded me that we're not supposed to be spending time indoors with people who aren't _part of our households_." Blaine sighs. "That pretty much rules out me going to his place and jumping him. And the worst part is... Kurt just wants to do the right thing. And I _know_ it's the right thing. But I just..."

"Want to screw his brains out," Santana finishes.

"I was going to say something more tactful and romantic," Blaine says. "But... yes."

Santana and Sam look at each other for a moment.

"I can talk to Mercedes," Sam offers. "See if she knows what's going on with Kurt."

"And _I_ will give you shit until you stop feeling sorry for yourself, Blanderson," Santana says. "Seriously. Enough with the pity party. He wants you. You want him. Just figure it the fuck out."

"Ok," Blaine says. "But I'm not ready to stop singing quite yet."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Just be done before normal people go to sleep," she says.

When they hang up, Blaine looks at his keyboard, then at his tripod. He knows what he needs to do.

**

On Wednesday morning, Kurt wakes up, takes a shower, gets dressed, and does his hair. He almost makes it through breakfast without checking his phone. Almost. Maybe by New Year's, he'll be ready for an anti-doom-scrolling resolution.

He's got a lot of e-mails, of course. Probably mostly from American fucking Airlines, trying to convince him that travel is a good idea. No, no, and HELL no. But maybe his dad is forwarding ancient memes to him. And he misses his dad enough that he's ready to laugh at Gen X humor, so he starts to scroll...

Wait.

That's Blaine's address.

There's no text. Just an uninterpretable smiley and an attachment. It's a video file. Ok...

It could be a sex tape. Kurt is intrigued, and puts his dishes into the sink to soak before going into his bedroom and opening the file.

There is Blaine, standing beside his keyboard in his boxers and a t-shirt that is more holes than shirt. His hair is wild, like it has been slept on and not even washed, let alone gelled. God. Even when he's a total mess, Blaine is gorgeous. Kurt hesitates, then presses play.

Blaine grins at the camera, so goofy that he's got to be hiding nerves. And then he starts to sing.

 _🎵_ _Vaccine, vaccine, vaccine, vacciiiiiiiiiine  
I'm begging of you please to save my man  
Vaccine, vaccine, vaccine, vacciiiiiiiiiine  
I hope you will protect us if you can_

_He walked into the shop one day  
And I just could not stay away  
I hoped that he would call me soon  
Vaccine_

_When I talk to him I can't be glum  
He makes me laugh, he makes me come  
And I am so in love with him  
Vaccine_

And it keeps going. And going. And god, it's ridiculous and amazing and Kurt can't stop laughing.

When it's done, Blaine looks at the camera, a little sheepish. "Kurt, this is for you. And I want you to know that I still want to see you in person, but I'm willing to wait. As long as you want. And I hope you'll keep waiting with me." He grins again, hopeful and a tiny bit awkward, then gets up and walks forward.

And then the recording ends.

Kurt plays it again. And again.

*

Kurt is trying to decide whether to call Blaine when his phone rings. Mercedes, again.

"So your boy checks out," she says.

"You've confirmed that he's gay?" Kurt replies drily.

"Definitely gay, no criminal record. Used to volunteer at the Humane Society, playing with the puppies," she starts.

Kurt smiles. God, just the _word_ 'puppies' gives him warm fuzzies, at least when it's associated with Blaine.

"Also, according to his friend Sam, he's moping around because you dumped him." And _that's_ Mercedes' judgmental voice.

"I didn't _dump_ him." Kurt didn't mean to, at least.

"You canceled a date with him. And you barely respond to his texts." Mercedes has a point.

"Ok. Fine," Kurt says. "But I didn't _mean_ to dump him. It's just that we're not supposed to do things indoors with people from other households."

"Kurt Hummel. Since when do you let things like rules and expectations define you?"

"When they have to do with public health," he replies. "When they're part of stopping this horrible virus."

She sighs. "At the very least, you should answer his messages," she says. "He sounds like a good guy."

Kurt bites his lip. "I want to," he says. "But every time I talk to him, I start having _expectations_."

"And that's a bad thing?" Mercedes asks him.

"Expectations lead to disappointment," Kurt says. "Or worse."

Mercedes snorts. "In this case, it's not expectations that are the problem, Kurt." She's probably shaking her head. "It's self-sabotage. And that's _definitely_ going to lead to disappointment."

*

Kurt keeps looking at his phone after Mercedes hangs up. Finally, he texts Blaine.

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:23 AM [KHummel]_   
**What am I thinking of?**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:27 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Is it a person, place, or thing?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:29 AM [KHummel]_   
**A thing.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:31 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Is it bigger than a breadbox?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:33 AM [KHummel]_   
**Yes and no.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:35 AM [Blaine]_   
**_You can't say that._ **   
**_You could say 'maybe'._ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:37 AM [KHummel]_   
**I don't want to say 'maybe.'**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:39 AM [Blaine]_   
**_I don't even know what to do with that._ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:41 AM [KHummel]_   
**Ask me if it's tangible.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:43 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Feeding me questions?_ **   
**_Don't you want to win?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:46 AM [KHummel]_   
**I enjoy feeding you.**   
**And yes, I want to win.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:48 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Ok._ **   
**_Is it tangible?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:51 AM [KHummel]_   
**Mostly not.**   
**But sometimes it is.**   
**In a way.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:53 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Ok._ **   
**_Are there other questions I should ask?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:55 AM [KHummel]_   
**Is it all around?**

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:57 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Ok._ **   
**_Is it all around?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 9:59 AM [KHummel]_   
**Yes.**   
**Ask me if it is the drug.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:01 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Is it the drug?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:03 AM [KHummel]_   
**Yes.**   
**Ask me if it is like oxygen.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:05 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Is it like oxygen?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:07 AM [KHummel]_   
**Yes.**   
**Ask me if it is a many-splendored thing.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:10 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Wait. Let me ask._ **   
**_Is it all you need?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:12 AM [KHummel]_   
**Yes.**

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:14 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Is it a battlefield?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:16 AM [KHummel]_   
**Occasionally.**

The dots blink, then stop, then blink again.

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:20 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Have I fallen in it?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:23 AM [KHummel]_   
**You said you were in it, at least.**   
**In a song.**

The dots blink again.

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:27 AM [Blaine]_   
**_Have you fallen in it?_ **

_Wed, Nov 18, 10:29 AM [KHummel]_   
**Yes.**

The dots blink. And then Kurt's phone rings.

"Kurt..." Blaine whispers.

"I don't know what's going to happen," Kurt says. "I'm scared to think about it. I'm scared to hope. But whatever happens... I want it to happen with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Islands in the Stream (Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers: https://youtu.be/UaNGtgYwSsU)
> 
> Two Doors Down (Dolly Parton: https://youtu.be/wWChc2TeYU0)
> 
> Jolene (kind of), but actually the parody with lyrics by Gretchen McCulloch (https://youtu.be/cCwNQtnI64I)
> 
> Love Is All Around (The Troggs: https://youtu.be/SxxwtTjLKJs)
> 
> Love is the Drug (Roxy Music: https://youtu.be/0n3OepDn5GU)
> 
> Love Is Like Oxygen (Sweet: https://youtu.be/kRVwcPTnug8)
> 
> Love Is a Many Splendored Thing (The Four Aces: https://youtu.be/GnDtxiNwDS8)
> 
> All You Need Is Love (Beatles: https://youtu.be/_7xMfIp-irg)
> 
> Love is a Battlefield (Pat Benatar: https://youtu.be/IGVZOLV9SPo)


	12. The End of Quarantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine needs to do laundry. Like, REALLY needs to do laundry.
> 
> Featuring Santana Ex Machina, with a special guest appearance from Carole Hudson-Hummel.

Kurt and Blaine have a lot of phone sex on Thursday and Friday. Between rounds, they talk: about their pasts, their families and childhoods and college experiences; about the present, the masks that Kurt is making for his friends and the songs that are stuck in Blaine's head. But they don't talk about the future.

And then it's Saturday. Two weeks since they might have been exposed. Two weeks in quarantine. Two weeks since they met.

They're lying on their beds, naked and spent, after the first milestone: two full weeks since Kurt was in the sex shop. Blaine has a few more hours to go before he's in the clear, if his exposure was at the evening celebrations. But maybe it's ok to think ahead, now. At least a little.

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you officially leave quarantine?" Blaine asks.

"I don't know," Kurt says. "Probably find an outdoor farmers market to find things to cook for Thanksgiving. Or maybe I'll find a store that does curbside pickup." He sits up and wipes himself clean. "What about you?"

"Don't laugh," Blaine replies. "Seriously. Don't laugh. But... I _really_ need to do laundry."

"That's right," Kurt says. "You've been in one room this entire time. Except for going out to get tested, I mean."

"The room feels bigger when your voice is in it," Blaine replies.

And they may have been spent before. But, well. It isn't long until they're ready for another round.

**

It's midnight, and too late to do laundry, by the time Blaine is officially in the clear, so he gets up early on Sunday morning. First, he takes a shower and changes into his last clean polo shirt. Then he gathers his clothes into his laundry basket (and his suitcase; there really is a lot of it), finds the bottle of detergent that he hides so Sam won't use it all, and...

_Sun, Nov 22, 9:32 AM [Satan]_   
**Don't come out of your room Blanderson.**

_Sun, Nov 22, 9:34 AM [Blaine Anderson]_   
**_I really need to do laundry, Santana._ **   
**_You know I don't care if you're naked._ **

_Sun, Nov 22, 9:36 AM [Satan]_   
**Not kidding, Blanderson.**   
**I got a notification.**

Blaine's heart sinks. He presses the button to just call her. "Santana..."

"I don't know when it happened," Santana says. "So don't bother asking."

"Do you need me to get you some food or anything?" Blaine offers. "You were so great helping me these past two weeks."

"Actually, it's both me and Trouty Mouth," Santana says. "So we figure we should just keep using the same rooms that we've been in."

"What?" Blaine hopes he's not hearing what it sounds like he's hearing.

"You can leave the house," Santana says. "You're out of quarantine. But the kitchen and laundry room and living room? They're ours. You know how hard it would be to clean them, after two weeks with you stuck in your room?"

It's true. Sam doesn't understand how cleaning works, and Santana just isn't interested. The toilets alone will take weeks to recover. And Blaine can't imagine what the kitchen sink must look like.

"But Santana. I'm out of clothes. Can't you just stay in your room, and I'll wear a mask?" Blaine is practically begging.

"You take forever to do laundry," Santana says. "There's a laundromat at the mini-mall. I'll stay in my room long enough for you to leave."

And that's that. Blaine masks up, and Santana and Sam stay in their rooms, and Blaine carries his laundry out to his car. It takes two trips, but finally, he's sitting behind the wheel, not sure what to do.

His phone sings at him. He glances down. It's Kurt.

"Hey, there." Kurt sounds slightly breathless. "Want to Facetime?"

"I can't," Blaine says. "I have to go to the laundromat."

"Is that a code for something?" Kurt asks. "Because I can't see your face to know if you're serious."

"Oh, I'm serious," Blaine says.

"I thought you had a washing machine?" Kurt sounds confused.

"We do," Blaine replies. "But Santana and Sam got exposure notifications."

"Oh, shit," Kurt says.

"And Santana says they get to quarantine with the laundry room and kitchen. Because it would be too hard to clean the rooms after they've been using them without me." Blaine looks sadly at the house.

"Wait. Santana and Sam want you to stay in your room for another TWO WEEKS because they don't like to CLEAN?" Kurt sounds even more furious than Blaine is. Which is kind of nice. Blaine could get used to Kurt's righteous anger, at least when Kurt's on his side. "Oh, HELL no, Blaine."

"I don't know what else to do." Blaine puts his chin on the steering wheel and stares at the house. "I really want to get out of my room. And I _really_ need to do laundry."

"Yes, but a laundromat? Indoors? With strangers? Blaine, have you _seen_ the infection numbers? God, Blaine, what if all _three_ of you end up needing to quarantine? I mean, I could bring you food, that wouldn't be a problem, but god, Blaine, you'll have been in your room for an entire _month_ if you have to do it again."

"I know," Blaine says. "But I'm out of clothes. I don't have any clean underwear left."

Kurt is silent for long enough that Blaine wonders if the connection has dropped. And then, finally, Kurt speaks. "You could come here."

Blaine isn't sure he heard correctly. "Here?"

"To my apartment," Kurt clarifies. "I've got a washing machine and dryer."

"But..." Blaine isn't quite sure how to put this. "Mixing households?"

"Maybe we could do it safely," Kurt suggests. "At least, more safely than at a laundromat. We'll both wear masks, and I'll go into my room and close the door and keep the windows open." He pauses. "Honestly, it wouldn't be any worse than what you've been doing for the last two weeks, in your house with Sam and Santana. Better, because neither of us has gone anywhere or interacted with anyone, except for getting tested."

"Kurt, that's really nice," Blaine says. "Thank you."

"It doesn't seem like much." Kurt sounds apologetic.

"My clothes disagree," Blaine replies. "You haven't smelled them."

Kurt laughs. "Fair enough," he says. "Text when you get here. I'll open the door, and then go into my room and let you know that I'm ready."

"Ok," Blaine replies.

*

Kurt's apartment is small but tasteful. The living room and kitchen are one big room, light and airy, with a small counter/bar separating the spaces. There's a couch, a recliner, a coffee table with artfully arranged magazines, and a television. The kitchen isn't large, but there's a nice balance between counter space and appliances. A small table sits against one wall, with three chairs around the sides. The walls are decorated with framed theatre posters and a few photos: a bald man with a baseball cap, a smiling blonde woman, and a ridiculously tall young man, all hugging Kurt. There are several doors on the far side of the room - probably the bedroom and bathroom, and maybe a couple closets. Presumably one of the doors has the washing machine hidden behind it.

Blaine closes the apartment door and texts Kurt. His phone sings back to him.

"The laundry is in the closet on the left," Kurt says. "There's a shelf in there with detergent. Don't use the one with bleach on your polo shirts unless you want to add more pastels to your wardrobe. And the small one is just for delicates - you won't need that one, either." It's weird to hear Kurt's voice twice, once through the door and once through his phone.

"I actually brought my own detergent," Blaine says. "But thank you." He pauses. "Nice place. Are the photos of your family?"

"Yeah. You could probably guess who they are - my dad is the guy with the cap, and Finn is the giant with the goofy grin. The woman is my stepmother, Carole. She's the nurse I told you about. And you've seen me."

Blaine smiles. He wants to say that he wishes he could see Kurt right now, in person, rather than just hearing his voice through a door. But he just opens the laundry closet and looks at the machines, instead. "Is it ok if I do a couple loads?" Blaine asks.

"Oh my god, yes," Kurt says. "Do as many as you want. And feel free to read magazines or eat something while you're waiting, too."

"Ok," Blaine replies, and starts sorting his clothes.

**

Kurt sits in his room, scrolling through his junk e-mail, trying not to think about the ridiculously cute man who is in his living room, right at this moment, doing laundry. His computer chimes, and he laughs to himself. Yes, he is most definitely up for phone sex with the guy who is currently sitting on his couch. Though it will be weird to do it while wearing nothing but masks.

But it isn't Blaine. It's Carole. Oh, crap, that's right, Carole's off today, and she said she wanted to talk to him. He almost forgot.

He answers, and Carole's face appears on his laptop screen.

"Hi, Kurt." Her smile is tired, but still warm. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing great," he replies. "I'm officially out of quarantine. Going back to work tomorrow. How are you? And Dad? And, oh, everything in Lima?"

"Your dad is hanging in there," she says. "Sometimes I can hear him yelling at the television when I get home. But he's eating healthy. At least, that's what it looks like, based on what disappears from the refrigerator."

"I've been texting shopping lists to Finn," Kurt says. "Dad complains about it all the time. But fortunately, Finn's _still_ worried about all the blackmail I have on him from high school. And I scare him more than Dad does."

"I think Finn just knows that you're right," Carole smiles.

"And how are you?" Kurt asks. "I mean, you don't need to tell stories if it's too much to think about. I watch the news. And this little 'visit' is for _you_."

"It's rough," she admits. "And you're right. I don't want to talk about work. I want to talk about other things. Like the secret to your perfect mashed potatoes."

"You're really going to do those?" Kurt asks. "How are you sharing the food?"

"Finn is making a salad," she says. "And a couple of the people who work at the shop are cooking things to share, too. Including the turkey, thank goodness. We're going to separate the food into lots of containers, and Finn is going to drive around and deliver the dishes to everyone's doorsteps. I just have to make mashed potatoes and stuffing." She crosses her arms. "Which means you need to share your secrets."

"Oh, I wish I could be there to help," Kurt says. "And you know it's not really my secret, right? Let me send you some links to a few videos." He searches, then e-mails the links to her.

"I've watched some of these before," Carole says. "Mine still come out lumpy."

"I just use the mixer," Kurt confesses. "It's not that difficult."

"Kurt, _not that difficult_ for you is more than most people can manage," Carole laughs. "Could you show me?"

"Now?" Kurt swallows.

"I realize that you probably don't have potatoes cooked and ready. I just want to see how your mixer works," Carole says.

"It isn't that." Kurt grimaces. "I have... a guest. In my apartment." He gives her a guilty look. "I know we're not supposed to mix households, and I really didn't mean to, but he's been quarantined for two weeks and hasn't interacted with anyone and he _really_ needs to do laundry."

Carole looks him over. "Is that why you're wearing a mask?"

Kurt nods.

"I didn't want to ask about it," Carole says. "It's such a lovely mask, I thought it might be a fashion statement." She winks. "I can't ever tell with you. I just wait until you tell me what to wear."

"There will be knock-offs available in the Lima Mall in two years," Kurt says airily. "Fake designer Kurt Hummel masks."

"Oh, god, I hope not." It's more a bark than a laugh. "Please, not two years from now."

Oh. Right. "Well, out-of-date fashion would be very on-brand for Ohio," Kurt shrugs. "It's not like anyone in Lima thinks about what they're wearing, anyway."

"Not since you left, at least," Carole laughs. "We're all a bunch of walking fashion disasters without you."

Kurt grins at her, even though she can't see his smile.

"So this guy who is doing laundry in your apartment... have you told us about him?" Carole is less direct than his father would be, but she asks the same questions.

"No," Kurt replies. "We just met. Well, before our quarantines."

"The same quarantine?" Carole looks amused.

"Yes. Well, no. Two separate, simultaneous quarantines." Kurt isn't sure if the explanation is enough. "We met at that press conference. Remember, the absurd one at the gardening store?"

"Oh," Carole smirks. "The one beside the sex shop?"

Kurt can feel his face turning red. "Umm. Yes."

"I see," she says. "I promise not to tell your father that detail."

"Thank you," Kurt says.

"So you've both been quarantining," Carole eyes him. "Separately. And now you're sitting in your room, wearing a mask, because he's in your apartment doing laundry." She frowns. "I know I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately, but... why?"

"Why what?" Kurt frowns.

"Why can't you both be in the same room?"

"Because of the pandemic." Kurt tilts his head, like his answer is so obvious that he needs to look at it from a different direction. "Because cases are rising. Because Philly banned the mixing of households."

"Yes," Carole says. "All those things are true. But Kurt, we're worried about people's bubbles getting too big when so many people are contagious."

"Right," Kurt nods.

"We're worried about that group of four friends, where one person got it from their sister, who served drinks to someone who got it at a party with a friend who watched football with someone who catered a 100-person wedding," she says. "We want to keep it from spreading. But Kurt, you and..." She waits for a name.

"Blaine," Kurt says.

"You and Blaine... you've already cut off any chance of getting it, during these past two weeks when you've avoided everyone." She pauses. "You _have_ avoided everyone, haven't you? Both of you, I mean? You know what he's been doing?"

 _Me_ _. At least virtually,_ Kurt thinks. _He's been doing me_. "Yes," Kurt says. "I've been talking to him every day."

"So it sounds safe to me," Carole says. "You should probably go out there and kiss him now."

"Carole!" Kurt's face burns.

"It's pretty obvious that you want to," she says. "I've seen that look, Kurt."

"What look?" Kurt blinks.

"That look in your eyes," she answers. "It's the same look that your father had, all through our second date." She smiles at him. "Now go."

"What about the mashed potatoes?" Kurt reaches for something he can hold onto in the conversation. He's already dizzy, like he's about to fall.

"I'll figure them out," she says. "Oh, and Kurt?"

"Yeah?" He's not sure he can take anything more.

"Don't marry him until everyone's been vaccinated," she says. "Your father and I deserve the opportunity to embarrass you at your wedding. Don't take that away from us."

Kurt just laughs until he's gasping for air.

She looks at him, fond and amused.

"I promise," Kurt says. "And Carole?"

"Yes, Kurt?"

"Thank you." He smiles at her one last time and ends the call.

And then he gets up, walks across the room, and opens the door.

**

Blaine is sitting on the couch, flipping through a well-worn issue of Vogue, when the bedroom door opens. He doesn't recognize the sound immediately; the washing machine has just switched to the spin cycle, and the click of a latch and the soft sound of socks on the floor are hard to make out.

But something makes him look up. And there is Kurt, standing at his bedroom doorway. His hair is as perfect as it always is at the beginning of every video call. His turquoise pants leave nothing to the imagination. The yellow shirt stretches tight across his chest and shoulders, and his mask somehow manages to tie the entire ensemble together, while also highlighting both the blue and green in his eyes. His eyes, which glint with something that Blaine can't quite name...

Wait. What's Kurt doing out of his room?

"I was just talking to my stepmother," Kurt says. "The nurse. She reminded me of the reason for the rule. The no-household-mixing rule. We've both been isolating for two weeks. We can't infect each other."

Blaine nods. But he's still confused. "So...?"

"So we can do _this_." Kurt crosses the room, takes Blaine's hands, and pulls him to his feet. And then Kurt lifts his hands towards Blaine's face. "May I?"

Blaine nods again.

Kurt slowly, carefully reaches behind Blaine's ears and slips off the mask ties. His hands follow the cloth as it drops, tracing Blaine's cheeks, then jaw, then chin.

He looks at Blaine from above his mask.

Oh.

Blaine reaches up. Kurt leans into the touch as Blaine brushes Kurt's ears, then unties the laces on Kurt's mask. Well, Blaine tries, but his fingers are fumbling, and it's a little complicated. Kurt laughs and quickly undoes them himself, then picks up both masks and carries them to the laundry closet. There's a paper bag there, and Kurt drops both masks into it.

And then he turns, looks at Blaine, and raises an eyebrow.

It doesn't take Blaine long to cover the distance between them. They look at each other, still, for a moment. And then there are lips. Kurt's lips, on Blaine's, and they are soft and taste like coffee mixed with a little chocolate syrup and they are a little wet or maybe that is Kurt's tongue, teasing Blaine's mouth open. Blaine presses back, tangling his tongue with Kurt's, until it's hard to breathe, and he has to pull back for a moment. And then he reaches up for Kurt's head, feeling the tiny hairs on the back of Kurt's neck, and pulls him in again.

They are there for a year or maybe more, just living through the taste and feel of lips and tongues. But although Blaine has wanted to know what those lips taste like, there are a lot of other things he wants to know, too. Kurt makes a little sad noise as Blaine pulls his lips away, but the whimpers turn eager as Blaine drags his lips along Kurt's cheek, then burrows into Kurt's neck and begins to nibble (without teeth, of course) and suck.

**

It's the smell that surprises Kurt the most. He has imagined the feel of Blaine's stubble against his neck, and the taste of Blaine's lips, and he expected to just deal with the smell of dirty clothes and the staleness of a two-week confinement. But Blaine smells like a mixture of raspberry hair gel and fresh-scent aftershave, and it is oddly appealing. Kurt adds the scent to his rapidly growing catalog of sensations that mean _Blaine_.

Or maybe that isn't the most surprising thing. Maybe the biggest surprise is the way the pads of Blaine's fingertips are just a little bit smooth as they tighten on the back of Kurt's head, massaging into the muscles at the base of Kurt's skull, loosening tension that Kurt hadn't realized that he had been carrying for months.

Or maybe it's the taste of artificial chocolate cereal lingering in Blaine's mouth, beneath the freshness of breath mints.

Maybe it's the softness of Blaine's well-worn polo shirt beneath Kurt's hands, where they dig into Blaine's shoulders. Or the hardness of Blaine's cock, pressing through two pairs of jeans into Kurt's thigh.

Kurt sighs, or maybe groans, as the roughness of Blaine's cheek and the softness of Blaine's lips move lower, down Kurt's neck towards his collar.

**

Blaine loves Kurt's shirt. Really, he does. It looks gorgeous, the way the brightness of the yellow brings out the paleness of Kurt's skin and the blue in his eyes. But right now, Kurt's shirt is in the way. Blaine reluctantly releases his hold on Kurt's neck so his hands can start working on the long line of buttons that prevent Blaine's lips from exploring more of Kurt's skin.

Kurt pulls back. Blaine wants to complain, but it _is_ easier to work on the buttons this way. Kurt laughs and takes Blaine's hand.

"Would you like to see my bedroom?" Kurt's voice is breathy and sexy and... yeah. His lips quirk. "Though I guess you've already seen it."

"But I've never been inside it." Blaine releases the stubborn button near Kurt's waist. He can't get it undone anyway, not one-handed like this. "Lead the way."

Kurt presses his lips together, like he's afraid of what will happen if the smile inside them escapes. Then he steps backwards and pulls Blaine into his room.

Blaine wants to look around and take it all in. He does. But he also wants to pull the shirt out of Kurt's pants and get it unbuttoned the rest of the way. When the shirt is finally loose, he pushes it off of Kurt's shoulders. Kurt steps back and wriggles to let the shirt fall free, then shimmies out of his pants. Blaine pulls his polo off, unzips his jeans, and shoves his underwear down.

Kurt looks him over once, then pushes Blaine onto the bed.

**

Blaine's fingers dig into the sides of Kurt's ass as Kurt straddles Blaine's thighs, considering what he wants to touch first. Finally, Kurt leans forward, gives Blaine a kiss as a kind of promise, and pulls back to give himself room to explore. He runs his hands down Blaine's sides, feeling the muscles shiver, caressing whenever Blaine writhes and moans. When he reaches Blaine's ass, he switches direction and slides his hands around and up, barely brushing Blaine's cock on the way toward Blaine's belly, his ribs, the dark hair curling on his chest. Blaine closes his eyes and presses his hips upwards. Kurt smiles and shifts his body so their dicks finally come into contact.

**

Blaine is trying to be patient and cool. Really, he is. But the moment Kurt stops teasing and allows their cocks to touch... Well. It just feels so good, the smoothness of Kurt's cock against Blaine's sensitive tip. He pushes up, trying to get more of that friction that he desperately, desperately needs.

**

Kurt can't help smiling at the string of foul-mouthed nonsense coming out of Blaine.

"Oh, fuck, yes," Blaine moans. "More. Need you, Kurt. Oh holy fuck."

But Blaine has a point, incoherent as it is. Kurt reaches between them, slicks his hand with the pre-cum, and strokes their cocks.

**

Oh holy fuck yes oh my god Kurt love you I fucking love you so fucking much...

**

Blaine's skin is sticky with sweat as he twitches beneath Kurt, then comes. The warmth against Kurt's cock is enough to make Kurt's balls tighten and then suddenly release in an almost overwhelming wave of sensation, the musky scent of sex and the pressure of Blaine's fingers on Kurt's hips and the taste of the words as Kurt falls forward and kisses Blaine again.

I love you.

**

Blaine's phone is buzzing when Kurt finally goes into the kitchen to get them some water. They've been lying there, just curled around one another, for so long that they're both starting to feel dehydrated. Kurt picks up the phone and glances at it.

_Sun, Nov 22, 12:26 PM [Satan]_   
**Hey what happened?**

_Sun, Nov 22, 1:03 PM [Satan]_   
**Just how long does it take you to do laundry, Blanderson?**

The first message is a half-hour old, so Kurt grabs the water, then brings everything into the bedroom. "Is there some reason why Satan cares about your laundry?"

Blaine takes the phone and looks at it. "Oops." He grimaces. "That's Santana. My housemate-slash-boss. And I haven't even taken the first load out yet. I'd better call her." He taps the phone.

"Took you long enough, Blanderson." The woman's voice is sarcastic and amused. "Things getting wild in the laundromat?"

Blaine just coughs, so Kurt answers for him. "Actually, he's at my place."

"Well, hello, Blaine's Fuck Buddy. Nice to meet you."

Blaine grimaces. "Just ignore her."

"Oh, I definitely will _not_ ," Kurt says. "Hi, Santana. Blaine needs a bit more time to wash all his clothes."

"I'm sure he does." Santana sounds like she's smirking. "Tell him we're at the shop, and he needs to go back to the house and get his laptop. We're running low on dildoes and lube, and he's the only one who has figured out how the wholesalers work."

"I thought she was exposed?" Kurt frowns at Blaine.

"Santana! You're supposed to be in quarantine!" Blaine looks horrified. "Neither one of you should be outside the house!"

"Oh, right." Santana is awfully nonchalant about this. "So I lied to you about that, Blanderson. Trouty Mouth and I are fine."

"No, you could feel fine even if you're infected, lots of asymptomatic people spread the virus, you need to STAY HOME..." Kurt waves his arms at the phone, even though Santana can't see him.

"Take it easy, Fuckboy. I told you that I _lied_. As in, I never got an exposure notification."

Blaine shrugs. "She does things like this sometimes," he tells Kurt.

"You're welcome," Santana says. "Both of you. Now, when can you come by to get the rest of Blanderson's things?"

"Excuse me?" Kurt looks at Blaine for an explanation. Blaine just shrugs again.

"I'm kicking your sweetie out of the house. He can move in with you." There's a click of fingernails on a counter.

Kurt looks at Blaine. "It's ok with me," he says. "I've seen your things. There's room here for them."

"Good," Santana says. "Because there's a hot math grad student that I met online who is stressed out about the infection probability in her dorm or something, and I want to give Blanderson's room to her."

"Santana, how did you meet someone? I thought you were just going from home to the shop and back all the time?" Blaine asks.

"I watch the Dance Your PhD competitions on YouTube for thrills. She responds to dirty comments like they're serious." Santana taps her fingernails again. She must have quite a set of talons to make that sound over the phone. "So, Blanderson. When can you come and get your stuff?"

Blaine looks at Kurt. Kurt shrugs back. "Later this afternoon? Maybe?"

"Fine," Santana says. "Leave your keys in the kitchen, and be out by four." And with that, she ends the call.

Blaine and Kurt just sit on Kurt's bed, naked, staring at the phone. And then Kurt starts laughing.

"What?" Blaine asks.

"Welcome home," Kurt finally gets out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Dance Your PhD" contest actually exists: https://www.sciencemag.org/projects/dance-your-phd/official-rules
> 
> If Brittany went to grad school, she should totally do it.


	13. Epilogue: Zoomsgiving (Thankszooming? Eh, whatever)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurt can't avoid introducing his father to Blaine.

Kurt unties his boots before opening the apartment door, then strips off his mask and deposits it in the bag.

"You're supposed to say 'honey, I'm home!'" Blaine calls from the kitchen.

"Honey, I'm home!" Kurt laughs in response. "Did everything go ok picking up the turkey?"

"Yes," Blaine replies. "Dropping it off at that bakery to be cooked was a brilliant idea."

"If I'm going to run sound for human-interest stories on Thanksgiving, I might as well make the most of it." It's weird trying to do the heart-warming holiday thing at stores that are only letting in one person at a time, rather than trying to manage the sound in a crowd of aggressive shoppers. But at least the station has everyone wear masks, and the segments are recorded outdoors, and the microphones all have six-foot-plus extensions. It's a bizarre attempt at feeling normal, but they're trying to do it safely.

"Sam came by to pick up their servings of the food, too," Blaine says. "And he brought something from Mercedes. He said he would drop off our stuff at her place."

"I can't wait to see what Sam and Santana made." Kurt finishes unwrapping his scarf and hangs in on a hook beside the door.

"They mostly sent alcohol," Blaine admits. "And chips. But there's something from their new roommate, too."

"Sounds great." Kurt strips out of his coat. "I'm going to shower and change before we eat, if that's ok." He doesn't know if his habit of showering and changing every time he enters the apartment will continue after the pandemic. It might.

*

Kurt stands in the shower, water running through his hair, and thinks about how different things have suddenly become. It's only been four days, and it's definitely the honeymoon period. But... it already feels as if Blaine belongs here, in Kurt's apartment, in his life. Blaine's keyboard has a new home against the living room wall, beside Blaine's standing desk and laptop. And yes, there's something aesthetically unpleasant about mixing work and leisure space like that, but nine months into the pandemic, Kurt understands the necessity. And he's glad that Blaine is able to keep working for the sex shop without leaving the apartment. Blaine is the one dealing with ordering or accounting or whatever he does, while Sam and Santana are stuck packing boxes to be shipped and telling unmasked idiots that no, they can't come into the shop to try out the blow-up dolls, please just order one online and keep your germs to yourself while you're jerking off. Kurt is quite happy that Blaine isn't involved in that part of the business.

Someday, Kurt knows that he and Blaine will have their differences. They've already had to compromise on the appropriate places to store kitchen utensils, and Kurt's tendency to make cutting comments doesn't always fit with Blaine's desire to avoid conflict until he finishes writing a song about it. But for now... it's nice. Hearing Blaine sing in the shower. Watching Blaine dance while he flips pancakes. (And, oh, Kurt could watch that ass all day, except that he can't keep his hands off it.) Feeling Blaine's arms wrap around him in the middle of the night, when Kurt is lying awake, worrying about what other horrible things might happen between now and mid-January.

Kurt steps out of the shower, pulls on his clothes, and styles his hair. And now... it's show time.

Blaine has changed while Kurt was in the shower, into a nice shirt, jacket, and bow tie. The table is set, with two chairs, place settings, and plates full of food on the long side of the table. Kurt's laptop sits in the middle; the serving dishes have all been displaced to the counters, but that's only a problem if Kurt lets it get to him. And he won't. Because he's going to introduce his boyfriend to his family, and that alone is stressful enough.

Ok. So Kurt has been procrastinating this meeting. He knows that. And he knows that the situation gets worse with every day he that avoids introducing his dad to Blaine. But what was he going to say? _'Hi Dad, here's my new boyfriend who just moved in with me. Yeah, we've been having phone sex all through quarantine, ever since he sent me gummy dicks and I responded by giving him a giant sourdough penis.'_ Yeah. _That's_ the way to win Burt Hummel's approval. And Kurt doesn't want to screw this up. Because he loves his dad. And he loves Blaine. And he wants them to get along for a very, very long time.

Carole was the one who finally offered to at least warn Burt about the situation. Kurt doesn't know what she said, and he's worried about the fact that Carole won't be sitting beside his father, holding his arm and calming him down if things get awkward. But she'll be on the Zoom call. As will Finn. So maybe it will all be ok?

Kurt takes a deep breath and sits. Blaine takes his own seat, then pats Kurt's arm. And with that little bit of support buoying him up, Kurt clicks the icon to start Zoom. _Yes,_ use video. _Yes,_ use the computer audio. Oh, crap, someone's in the waiting room already.

Thank goodness it's just Carole. Kurt clicks to let her in.

She covers her mouth, like she's holding in a squeal, while Kurt unmutes her. "Hi!" she finally says. "You must be Blaine! It's so good to finally see you."

"Hello, Ms..." Blaine starts.

"Carole," she says. "Call me Carole. Please. Anything else would be too confusing."

"Carole," Blaine repeats with a smile. "It's lovely to meet you."

"Oh, you too!" she replies.

But before they can say anything more, Finn is in the waiting room. "Hey, Kurt," he says. "Happy Thanksgiving." His eyes move like he's looking at one of the faces. "And you're Kurt's new boyfriend."

"Finn, this is Blaine," Kurt says. "Blaine, this is my step-brother, Finn."

"Nice to meet you, Finn," Blaine says.

Finn nods. "So you just moved in, or what?"

Kurt blinks. He hadn't anticipated Protective Finn.

"I did." Blaine is as smooth as when he's selling dildoes to Republicans.

"His housemates kicked him out, Finn." Kurt finds Blaine's hand under the table and threads their fingers together. "And we were already together."

Finn raises his hands in surrender. "Don't get mad at me, little brother. I just don't get how two dudes can get together during quarantine. Or how anyone can get together, actually."

And there isn't time to manage Finn anymore, because Kurt's dad is on.

"Hi, Dad." Kurt puts on his bravest face.

"Hey, kiddo." His dad gives the screen a long, appraising look. "And you're Blaine."

"Yes, sir." Blaine sits up a bit taller. Kurt squeezes his hand under the table.

"Call me Burt."

"Yes, sir... I mean, yes, Burt." Blaine's smile gets a little wider, like it does when he's panicking.

"So how did you two meet again?" Burt's eyes narrow. Oh, shit, this is it.

"He helped me out when I thought I was lost," Kurt says. It's true. If a bit unspecific. "Just before I had to quarantine."

"Yeah, that weird press conference by the porn shop," Burt says.

So much for staying safely vague.

"Yes, sir," Blaine gulps.

"I told you to call me Burt." He looks at something from under his cap. On his computer, he's probably looking at Blaine. "So what do you do at the porn shop, Blaine?"

"I used to be a clerk," Blaine replies. "You know. Selling things? But I've also been in charge of ordering from our wholesalers and dealing with online orders. So ever since I went into quarantine a couple weeks ago, I've been focusing on the online work."

"Hmmmf," Burt grunts. "You had trouble with mail order?"

Blaine sighs. "Oh, you have no idea."

"I have to buy auto parts online these days," Burt says. "Try me."

"Ok. So you know how the Postal Service was slowing everything down?" Blaine starts.

"Because they didn't want people to vote. Yeah." Burt makes a noise that sounds like disgust.

"Well, that makes it really hard to ship vibrators to rural addresses," Blaine says. "Especially if we want to guarantee a delivery date."

"Because everyone uses the Post Office for the last step of the delivery." Burt nods. "See, Finn? That's why you gotta order the seals and gaskets early. And the lube. Can't run out of lube."

Finn rolls his eyes, but Blaine nods.

"Definitely," Blaine says. "You never want to run out of lube."

Kurt takes a bite of turkey and hopes that the lighting doesn't show how red his cheeks have turned. But from that point, Burt and Blaine bond over politics and the challenges of running a small business when half your customers think mask-wearing is part of a conspiracy to violate their civil rights. They could probably go for hours, but they need to end after 45 minutes and let Kurt meet Blaine's family.

"That wasn't so bad," Blaine says as he gets up to fill his plate with more squash and stuffing.

"Thank goodness," Kurt agrees. "Now I can relax."

Blaine laughs. "Are you kidding?" he grins. "You haven't met my brother."

*

Once all the Zoom gatherings are over, Kurt and Blaine curl together on the couch, watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade on DVR. Kurt's phone buzzes with a text. He reads it, then shows it to Blaine.

"Finn says you're all right," Kurt says. "And he's pretty sure my dad likes you, too."

Blaine turns his head so he can press a kiss to Kurt's neck. "That's good."

"Oh, and here's Carole!" Kurt grins. "Carole says you're adorable. And I agree."

Blaine laughs. "Carole already texted me," he says. "She wants to know if the family gets a discount."

Kurt lifts his head so he can see Blaine's face. "What? At your shop?"

Blaine just shrugs.

"Ummm. You told her no. Right?" Kurt is a bit horrified.

"Well. Actually..." Blaine grimaces. "I ordered a Christmas present for her. It should ship tomorrow."

Kurt squeezes his eyes closed. "You realize that she likes to tell embarrassing stories when she gets drunk," he says. "And she really likes white wine."

"It can't be so bad." Blaine pulls Kurt closer, and they lie there for a while. Suddenly, Blaine sits up. "Look! There's Dolly!"

And he starts singing along.

It's a good distraction. Because Kurt has been imagining what stories Carole would tell after a few glasses of champagne. And he's not ready to tell Blaine that he's imagining a wedding reception.

He doesn't want to tempt fate. Not with a month of 2020 left to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There actually is a Philadelphia bakery that cooks people's turkeys on Thanksgiving, and there is an online story about it on FOX 29 (the station that Kurt supposedly works for).
> 
> Unwritten headcanon from this chapter: Brittany sent fondue. Kurt thinks it smells even worse than the shoes that Blaine has been wearing without socks for the past ten years.
> 
> Thanks to PaellaIsComplicated for telling me that Dolly Parton was in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and to


End file.
